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PARSON JONES 



FLORENCE MARRYAT \ 


AUTHOR OF “love’s CONFLICT,” “HOW LIKE A 
WOMAN,” ETC., ETC. 


iV(AV’ ' 



NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 Fourth Avenue 


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Copyright, 1893, by 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


A// rights reserved. 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


PARSON JONES. 


I. 

There was a certain humble, but tender little romance 
connected with the birth of Parson Jones. His father and 
mother had known each other, and loved each other, from 
boy and girl ; but fortuitous circumstances, the chief of 
which was poverty, had prevented their union. David Jones 
had toiled on as a clerk in his uncle’s office until he was 
forty years of age, and Mary Wilson had nursed an invalid 
mother for nearly the same time, and both had lost all hope 
of ever fulfilling the engagement into which they had entered 
in their youth, but to which they clung as faithfully as if 
it had been the marriage vow, when, suddenly and unex- 
pectedly, they were both set free. Mary’s mother died, and 
David’s uncle retired from business and left him manager 
of the firm at a suitable salary. Mary hardly thought, when 
the good news reached her, that David would hasten to 
fulfill his promises to her. They had been made so long 
ago, when she had been young and pretty, and it was many 
years now since she and Davy had spoken of marriage 
together. It had seemed such a forlorn hope to speak of. 
The poor woman looked in the glass which reflected her 
faded features, and a tear ran down her cheek as she recog- 
nized how unkindly the long years had used her. But she 
was a good woman — with a pure, true, and pious heart, and 


2 


PARSON JONES. 


prepared to accept whatever God thought best in an uncom- 
plaining spirit. And the result proved her wisdom. God 
had designed for her the greatest happiness on earth — to 
become the wife of a man whom she could thoroughly trust 
in and esteem. She was the first friend to whom David 
Jones flew with his good news — to whom he joyfully con- 
fided the intelligence that his income was at last sufficient 
to enable him to keep a wife. What tears of joy the middle- 
aged lovers shed together it is needless to relate. 

No young creatures, who gain their wishes at the first 
blush, can imagine what this weary man and woman felt 
when the desire of their lives was thus suddenly granted 
them. Mary grew young again under the weight of her new 
dignities, and David loved her as passionately as if she had 
been only seventeen. They lived a life of untold happi- 
ness together, never expecting or wishing to have any more, 
when, to their own utter astonishment, and that of their 
friends, Mary became the mother of a son. When the poor 
woman was first made aware of the anticipated event her- 
self, she refused to believe it, and when it became impossi- 
ble that she should deceive herself any longer, she made 
up her mind that it would be too much joy for any living 
mortal, and that she would assuredly die when it came to pass, 
and the meek thing was quite ready to resign her life in 
order to secure this great blessing for her faithful David. 
But the crisis passed, and she had a healthy son to rejoice 
over, as well as a husband. Then, indeed, did Mary and 
David Jones feel that there was nothing that they could do 
that was too much to show their gratitude to Heaven for 
the blessings it had vouchsafed them; and, from his birth, 
they resolved to consecrate their boy to the service of the 
Church. 

Like many other parents, they did not wait to ascer- 
tain the child’s proclivitives or character. They never 


PARSON JONES. 


3 


paused to consider if such a profession would make abetter 
or a worse man of him. He was. their own — their lawful 
possession, a direct gift from Heaven, and they had as much 
right to lay him on God’s altar as if he had been Abel’s 
lamb or Cain’s bread-fruit. The tender and grateful mother 
felt this even more than the proud father, and from the 
moment that little Davy could understand the meaning of 
what she said, she taught him that he was dedicated to the 
Church, and must behave, even from the beginning, as if he 
had already taken his vows of consecration. 

It may be supposed, from this, how he was brought up. 
He remained their only child, and they could never make 
up their minds to part with him. Until he went to college, 
David the younger lived under the espionage of his mother, 
and was reared far more like a girl than a boy. Not that he 
was effeminate: on the contrary, he was an unusually big 
boy of his age — long-limbed and large-boned, with rugged 
but handsome features, and an imperturbable good temper. 
He kept close to his mother’s side, as he was bid to do, and 
gave up many of his boyish inclinations for her sake. He 
considered it quite natural, as time went on, to spend his days 
at home, while other youngsters of his age went to dances, 
or to theaters, or to races. But his mother had told him 
that all such amusements were wrong, and that he was 
set apart from his fellows and consecrated to the service of 
God. And this idea gave the boy a certain feeling of 
dignity, although there were times when he sighed to par- 
take more freely in the amusements of his companions, and 
to have some more exciting employment than reading or 
walking. He was a good lad though, devoted to both his 
parents, never dreaming it possible that he could disobey 
them or thwart their wishes in any particular. Of the other 
sex he grew up in perfect ignorance. With the petty jealousy 
peculiar to her own, Mary Jones had the greatest fear lest 


4 


PARSON JONES. 


her boy should fall in love, or think more of any woman 
than herself. He was acquainted with a few girls, naturally, 
but he was too closely guarded to permit him ever to become 
on intimate terms with any one of them. Even though 
love had proved such a happiness to herself, his mother 
could not contemplate the probability of his marrying 
with equanimity. Yet, when David had passed through 
his college career (which he did creditably, though not by 
any means brilliantly) and fallen into a small and humble 
curacy in the heart of Wales, nature asserted herself within 
him, and he began to feel that longing to be mated that 
we all experience, however much we may deny it or be 
ashamed of it. 

His mother and he were alone by that time, the good old 
father having gone to another world, leaving but a very 
small pittance for his widow to subsist upon ; for, though 
his salary had been a fair one, his expenses had been great 
of late years, and he had been unable to save much. Mary 
Jones had mourned her husband truly, but she was an old 
woman by that time, and the old do not grieve as violently 
as the young. And had she not her dutiful and loving son 
to fill the place of his father ? He had always made his 
home with her, and she never dreamed of the possibility of 
living without him, nor David of parting with his mother. 
Yet, still there was something wanting in his life until he 
got a wife for himself. But even in this important matter 
he succumbed to, if he did not entirely follow, the wishes of 
his mother. Her influence had been too strong all his life 
for him to act independently of it now. When she saw that 
marriage was imperative for her son she made no objections 
to it, but she guided his thoughts, as it were, to the girl 
whom she considered most suitable for his wife. David was 
not slow to follow her lead. He was in the mind to fall in 
love, or imagine he had done so with any woman. He tried 


PARSON JONES. 


5 


hard to do his duty — he was still impressed with the respon- 
sibilities he had taken on himself, nor had he at any time 
been given to sentiment. It had been repressed in his 
nature when young, and now at four-and-twenty years of 
age he thought more of the help a wife would be in his 
household — in his parish duties — and to his mother when he 
could not be with her — than of the rapture Love would 
bring into his life. 

Mrs. Jones strongly recommended a girl called Selina 
Mostyn to her son’s consideration, chiefly because she was 
an orphan niece of his late father, besides being what she 
considered an amiable young woman and one who had been 
carefully brought up. The Reverend David examined his 
cousin with an eye to matrimony, and did not find it difficult 
to persuade himself that he could love her. And so, after 
awhile, he asked her to become his wife. Not timidly by 
any manner of means, for the young man had a very good 
idea, if not of himself, at all events of his calling, and thought 
it rather an honor for any woman to be selected tb be the 
helpmeet of a parson. But he wooed Selina Mostyn after a 
straightforward, genuine, pleasant fashion of his own, for it 
has already been said that he possessed a very sweet nature 
and one calculated to make most women happy. Selina 
Mostyn was not a plain girl — on the contrary she was rather 
pretty, though clumsily built and countrified in appearance. 
But what did that signify for a clergyman’s wife ? Old Mrs. 
Jones said it was one of the best things in her favor, and 
that she should have been indeed grieved if her beloved 
David had been led away by the lust of the eye to choose a 
woman for her beauty. So David Jones was^quite satisfied, 
and settled down very happily as a steady mar^ried man. 

Selina fulfilled all her duties as a wife and mother and 
housekeeper. Slje was amiable, economical, and good- 
tempered. Her hu3band and she had never had a cross 


6 


PARSON JONES. 


word between them, and the parson was as devoted to his 
children as his parents had been to him. He was promoted 
to the dignity of a parsonage now, and lived with his mother 
and his family in the lovely little village of Llantygollen, 
which is situated somewhere up on the Welsh hills. He was 
a man of five-and-thirty when we see him first, and his life 
had run very smoothly considering his age. He had expe- 
rienced no loss since the death of his father — his mother was 
still hale and hearty, and his wife and children were all in 
good health. His cure was a humble one, and his stipend was 
not large — still he had sufficient for his need, and he loved his 
parishioners and his home at Llantygollen. He took life as 
he found it, never troubling his head to consider if other 
careers were happier or more full of excitement than his own. 
It was on a sultry afternoon in June and the parson 
was working in his garden. He was a rather remarkable 
looking man. The long, uncouth body of his extreme 
youth had developed into an enormous frame, thin but 
muscular, and his honest, good-tempered face glowed with 
health. He had dark gray eyes, not very large, but with a 
sparkle of humor in them when aroused — a rather heavy 
nose and a wide mouth, but the most winning smile, which 
almost excused his adoring mother’s assertion that he 
looked like an angel. He was active and cheery, and he 
often laughed, and yet there was something wanting in his 
face — it was difficult to say what — a kind of vague search- 
ing after something he had never found. He had been 
brought into the world for the Church, and he had accepted 
his destiny as he would have accepted a commission in the 
army, or any other situation that had been waiting for him, 
and he fulfilled its duties as he would have fulfilled his 
duty wherever it found him. But he had no active love for 
his profession. He was a good man — a good husband and 
father and son, a good friend and neighbor — and he loved 


FA I? SON JONES. 


7 


God in his own way. But it must be confessed that the 
ritual of the Church, with its monotonous repetition, wearied 
him sometimes just a little, and he would often rather have 
stayed at home with Selina and his bairns than assumed his 
surplice and prayed and preached when his heart was else- 
where. That heart of his was often in his garden — he 
would liave liked to play the role of the first man and been 
set in the Garden of Eden to tend its fruits and flowers for- 
ever. 

Parson Jones’ garden was not quite so large as Eden is 
supposed to have been, but Eden can scarcely have been 
more lovely. It was situated on the slope of a hill, having 
been originally a field that was reclaimed for the benefit of 
the parsonage, and bloomed with the flowers of June, white 
and rosy-red and scarlet poppies nodding their heads be- 
tween the rows of cabbages, and making those inelegant 
vegetables look beautiful as a background for their own 
cockades of color. Roses were blossoming everywhere. 
They hung over the rustic porch where old Mrs. Jones was 
sitting in a wicker chair, watching her grandchildren at play. 
They climbed up the walls of the house, and lolled in an 
enervated and debauched fashion over their sister creepers, 
as if they were faint and needed support. Roses from 
the faintest blush to deepest crimson, roses from glowing 
yellow to pale cream, white roses, damask roses — surely the 
Garden of Eden can have held nothing more fair. The 
air was perfumed with them. They overpowered the scent 
of the clove carnations, which were Parson Jones’ pride. 
They extinguished the sweet, sickly smell of the honey- 
suckle, and made the tall white lilies take a back seat. But 
because they were so lavish of their scent and generous in 
their numbers, their owners did not think so much of them 
as they did of those flowers that were rarer in their climate. 
In the center of the lawn which, though not too nicely kept. 


8 


PARSON JONES. 


rose and fell in mounds that reminded the spectator of 
green billows on a grassy sea, there stood a verdant hillock 
that had once been called a rockery, and erected round the 
base of a chestnut tree. But the rocks had quite dis- 
appeared. The foundation was still there, but it was so 
enveloped by creepers as to be invisible. Purple clematis 
and the sweet traveler’s joy ran over it and up the trunk of 
the tree until their blossoms hung in festoons from the 
branches, while ferns and foxgloves, clumps of forget-me- 
nots and yellow creeping-jenny formed a deep fringe round 
its border. It was a mass of tangled loveliness. It was 
difficult to tell where Parson Jones’ kitchen garden ended 
or flower garden began, all God’s bounties were mixed up 
in such beautiful confusion. His dahlias, now preparing 
for their autumn show, were planted side by side with the 
raspberry and currant bushes, and the roof of his pigsty was 
etherealized by a magnificent crop of golden pumpkins. 
Gigantic plants of pampas grass reared their silvery feathers 
in vivid contrast with the shrub of the American blackberry, 
while rhododendrons and azalias and the barberry tree 
with its yellow blossoms and crimson fruit, made the scene 
a varied panorama of floral beauty. 

To the right of the parsonage garden stood the stable, 
where the rusty little cob which drew the pony chaise that 
conveyed the parson to the outlying hamlets which were 
under his charge stood looking out of the open window as 
if he were part of the family. The poor little fellow seldom 
had a proper grooming from one year’s end to another. 
The rough, untutored lad who was supposed to have charge 
of him, had too much to do with the pigs and cocks and 
hens, to say nothing of the potatoes and the cabbages, to 
to have much time to spare for the curry comb and dandy 
brush. The parson often gave Toby a rub down himself, 
for he was a man who loved all animals for their very help- 


PARSON JONES. 


9 


lessness’ sake, and would rather have gone without his 
dinner than see one of them neglected. And when he 
drove his old mother out in the pony chaise he always 
wanted the cob to meet with her approval. These drives, 
which were seldom indulged in unless sickness or some 
other extremity took him to a distance, were the delight of 
the old lady’s life. She always put on her Sunday bonnet 
and shawl when David took her out with him, and she 
would sit in the little carriage while her son visited his 
parishioners, as proud as a queen, and holding the reins as 
carefully as if there had been the slightest chance of Toby 
running away. 

During these privileged drives Mary Jones would almost 
lose sight of the fact that her boy was married, and confide 
all her difficulties to him as she had been wont to do of old. 
Not that she ever said anything disparaging of his wife, or 
that David would have listened to her if she had. These 
two — mother and son — were loyal to the backbone, and up- 
held each other in everything. But th^e,dear old woman 
took a certain pleasure in ignoring Selina’’ cm these occasions, 
talking to her son as if they were still all in all to each 
other, and no one had ever come between. She spoke to 
him of his father and her youthful love for him, of the 
difficulties that opposed their marriage, of the happy time 
when he was born and she thought that if she had only been 
'Spared to look upon his face and die, she would have had 
more than her share of this world’s happiness. And the 
honest parson would not be ashamed to stoop down from 
his post of charioteer and kiss the loving woman who had 
lived her life for him. Indeed it is questionable if, dearly 
as he loved his wife and children, the affection which David 
Jones bore for his mother at this juncture were not the 
strongest of his life. She had been his friend and counselor 
from infancy to manhood, and he could not imagine the 


lO 


PARSON JONES. 


time when he would have to do without her. As he glanced 
up now from the digging on which he was engaged and 
caught his mother gazing at him through her spectacles, he 
called out cheerily, ‘‘Well, mother, do you want anything? 
Are you ready for your tea ? Shall I call Lina to you ? ” 
Old Mrs. Jones, almost too deaf to hear what he said, 
shook her head with a smile that bespoke unlimited con- 
tent, and continued to gaze lovingly at him. The par- 
son was working in his shirt and trousers, but the 
afternoon was very warm and, as he spoke, he raised 
his hand to wipe away the perspiration on his brow. 
His little daughter Molly — his first-born and his favor- 
ite — was hanging about him ; his two sons, Owen and 
Hugh, lads of six and eight, were racing each other 
up and down the stony drive, and his wife came out of 
the trellised porch at that moment with her baby in her 
arms. Selina had not improved with marriage. Her maiden 
figure which had always been clumsy, had developed consider- 
ably with the pf^ing years. She was evidently set against 
the system of tipP^lacing, or, to speak more correctly, she 
had abandoned stays altogether. She was what is vulgarly 
but expressively called “ sloppy.” Her home-made print 
dress, which was quite familiar with the laundress’ art, dis- 
played a thick waist and a loose bosom. Her abundant 
brown hair, which should have been her glory, was twisted 
in an untidy knot on the nape of her neck, whence one long’ 
coil depended down her back. The parson sometimes 
mildly remonstrated with his wife about her hair. 

“ It is such lovely hair, my dear, and I admire it so 
greatly, ” he would say in his kindly way, “ I should like to 
see it dressed more tidily. You are wasting one of God’s 
best gifts to you and me, by neglecting it. ” 

“ It would be no use, David, dear,” Lina would reply ; “ if 
I were to spend hours over it, baby would have it all down 


PARSON JONES. 


II 


again. You know what she is I It is quite impossible to 
keep tidy with her for half an hour. ” 

“ Little rogue ! ” the father would answer, “ I think she 
grows stronger everyday. ” And Selina's untidy hair .would 
be forgotten in their mutual admiration for their offspring. 
As she came over the lawn at the present moment she looked 
as slovenly as usual. Her dress sat on her anyway, and her 
feet were thrust into carpet slippers. Her once pretty face, 
now broadened with matronhood, was flushed unbecomingly, 

— she wore no white about her throat, and the child she 
carried had apparently been amusing itself in the cinders. 
But the parson did not seem to perceive anything wrong ^ 
about either of them. He caught the infant in his arms as 
his wife approached his side, and kissed it fon.dly. 


This was his little Lina, a baby of te^ffionths old. He 
had called his first daughter after his mother — his second 
after his wife — the two names that made up the world to 
Parson Jones. 

“ Have you forgotten that it is Wednesday, David ? ” 
asked Selina, “ and I believe the Bells intend to have their 
boy christened this evening. You had better change your 
clothes before tea or you may be late.” 

‘^Yes! yes! I suppose I had,” said the parson, with a 
slight sigh — he would so much rather have spent that lovely 
evening with his babies in the garden — “ and thank you for 
reminding me, my dear, but there is plenty of time yet, 
surely! What o’clock is it ?” 

“ Oh, it is not five yet, but you generally take such a long 
time washing yourself, after you have been working in the 


12 PARSON JONES. 

garden, that I thought it best to call your attention to the 
fact." 

Quite right! my dear," chimed in the old lady, “ for 
though I hope that nothing would ever make our dear David 
forget his sacred calling — still a minister should not permit 
himself to be hurried before he enters on his duties." 

“You are both right," replied the parson quickly, “and I 
am afraid sometimes that I do allow myself to become too 
engrossed in the cultivation of my flowers. However, it is 
an innocent amusement so long as it does not interfere with 
higher things; but I have a few minutes to spare, surely ! 
Come with me, Lina! I want you to see the little porker 
Farmer Lewis brought us for a present this morning. It 
was so kind of the old man, and so unexpected into the bar- 
gain. What have I ever done for him that he should bring 
me of his substance ? " 

“Why! my dear David," exclaimed his mother, “do you 
remember how you stood between his son last year and the 
terrible sin he contemplated ? I am sure that was enough 
to earn a man’s" ff'atitude, if anything was! What would 
the unhappy youth have been doing now if you had not 
plucked him as a brand from the burning ? " 

“ What did he do ? " inquired Lina. 

“ Oh, my dear, do not ask the question. It is one that 
David would not care to answer. It is sufflcient that 
Farmer Lewis’ son was in mortal danger of losing his soul 
if our dear one had not gone to the rescue." 

It was an ingrained idea with both Parson Jones and his 
mother that Selina, at thirty years of age, was too young and 
innocent to hear anything of evil or its consequences. A 
novel never found its way into the parsonage, and, with the 
exception of the Record or the Rock., she never saw a news- 
paper. But she did not quarrel with the precautions taken 
to preserve her innocence. She was a type of the man’s 


PARSON JONES. 




true woman, and was quite contented to nurse her children 
and look after her kitchen. Her mind did not even soar as 
high as that of Parson Jones’ mother. It did not follow 
her husband in his profession. She went to church, because 
he told her to do so, and her mother-in-law went. But she 
was not imaginative enough to enjoy religion. For religion 
does require a lot of what children call “ making believe,” 
to render it satisfactory. But Selina Jones did not require 
any better religion than she found in her babies. She was 
just a mother — nothing more or less. The garden even did 
not interest her, except as it afforded pleasure for them. 
She was the sort of woman who would have married and 
been happy with any man so long as he did not ill-treat her. 

“ Come,” said David, “and look at the new pig! ” 

He lifted his baby upon his shoulder, and with a nod to 
the old mother, walked by his wife’s side down the path that 
led to the kitchen garden. 

“ He is such a pretty little piebald fellow that it will be 
quite a sin to make him into bacon,” continued the parson, 
as he tucked one arm under that of his wife in a friendly 
manner. “I should like to keep him as a pet. But just look 
at my cucumbers, Lina. Are they not beauties? There 
are over forty in that frame. I think we must send some to 
the horticultural show this autumn. I never saw the toma- 
toes so fine as they are this year either. We are very, very 
fortunate! What do you think I often say to myself, dear, 
when I look at our charming garden and over the valley 
there to where the Gollen runs down to the salmon falls?” 

“ I’m sure I can’t tell, David,” said Lina. 

“ ^ Thou hast cast my lines in pleasant places,’ ” quoted the 
parson reverently, “and indeed when I think of all I have 
and hold, I don’t know how to be sufficiently grateful. You 
and these dear bairns, and my easy, pleasant duties, and 
above all — my beloved mother, preserved so long to me 


14 


PARSON JONES. 


and in so much enjoyment of life. It makes me feel 
ashamed to think I receive so much and do so little.” 

“ Oh, but David, I think yon do a great deal,” remon- 
strated the practical Selina. “ Look at all the sermons you 
have to write — one every Sunday and sometimes two. I 
am sure I can’t think how you do it. It makes my head 
ache only to think of it.” 

“ I am afraid they make other people’s heads ache some- 
times to listen to,” replied the parson, with an arch smile. 

I am not a brilliant preacher, Lina ; I wish I were 
worthier of my office. However, if we do our best it is 
accepted as our best. I know that ; it is my only comfort.” 

“ But grandmamma says you are a magnificent preacher, 
David. She has told me that you used to play at preaching 
sermons when you were quite a little boy.” 

‘‘ Ah, Lina ! you mustn’t take all grandmamma says about 
me as gospel truth. The dear old soul thinks I am perfec- 
tion ; but she is blinded by her love for me. I daresay I 
did play at preaching sermons, and I daresay they were 
nearly as good as those I preach now. The first thing I can 
remember is being told that I was to be a clergyman when 
I grew up to be a man, and so my baby thoughts naturally 
took that bent. But I often think they had better have 
made me a farmer. There I should have been in my ele- 
ment.” 

Lina looked horrified. 

“ O David, don’t say that ! Suppose grandmamma 
should hear you.” 

Heaven forbid ! ” cried the parson merrily. “ But don’t 
fancy I am discontented with my lot, Lina, or that I would 
change it if I could. And, considering that I was never con- 
sulted on the subject, that is a very lucky thing — another 
instance of the mercy that has shadowed all my days. And 
now, what do you think of the new acquisition ? ” 


PARSON JONES. 


IS 

He is very spotty ! ” said Selina. 

“ The spots will not show when he is stuffed and 
roasted,” replied her husband, with another of his merry 
laughs. “ But, halloo ! what is the matter with my little 
Lina ? Fast asleep, I declare, in her daddy's arms, God bless 
her ! Well, wife, I suppose we had really better turn our 
steps toward the house, and while I trim myself up for 
evening service you can put this dear lamb into her bed.” 

And placing the infant in her mother’s arms. Parson Jones 
retraced his steps to the flower garden, and disappeared to 
make the required change. When he met his mother again 
at the tea table he perceived that she was arrayed in her 
Sunday clothes — the black satin bonnet that had served her 
ever since she had put off her weeds for his father, the old- 
fashioned silk mantle in which she yet believed, and the 
pair of black kid gloves which he had once brought her 
home as a present, on the occasion of a clergy meeting at 
the nearest town, and which she had kept as sacred ever since^ 

“ Going to church with me, mother ? ” he inquired ; 
“ isn’t it going to be foggy to-night ? I saw there was a 
vapor rising from the Gollen as I passed the window just 
now.” 

“ If it is fine enough for you to go, my dear son,” replied 
the old lady, ‘‘ it is fine enough for me. I would not miss 
the few words you will speak after the baptism to-night for 
anything.” 

“ You could speak them much better yourself,” he 
answered. And what about you, Lina ? ” 

• “I would rather stay at home, dear,” said his wife. 
“ Baby is fretty with her teeth, and I don’t want to leave 
her ; but if you wish me to go with grandmamma, why of 
course I will.” 

“ Couldn’t Ann look after baby for you, my dear Selina ?” 
commenced Mrs. Jones. 


i6 


PARSON JONES. 


No, my dear mother,” interposed the parson ; “ let Lina 
do as she feels inclined. Surely her first duty is toward her 
little ones ; and it would be useless her attending church if 
her heart were at home. Do just as you choose, Lina, and I 
feel with you that you ought to stay with your baby if she 
wants you.” 

“ You spoil me, David,” said Lina, with a tender smile. 

‘‘ I should spoil you much more by making you do what 
you do not like,”said the parson, as he consumed the simple 
meal before him. 

How good he is to me ; what a happy woman I am,” 
whispered the wife to the mother, as she approached her 
side to help her to some more bread-and-butter. 

“ What happy women we both are,” responded Mary 
Jones, with a tear in her eye. When the single and rather 
discordant church bell began to announce the fact that the 
time for service was near at hand, the parson placed his old 
mother’s arm tenderly within his own and conducted her 
carefully down the drive and along the short piece of road 
that divided the parsonage from the little church. These 
were among the proudest moments of Mary Jones’ life, when 
she felt that all her prayers and hopes had not been in vain, 
but that, like Hannah of old, she had dedicated her son to 
the Lord, and the Lord had rewarded her by making him 
one of his own peculiar people — one of those chosen ones 
who would reign with him forever. She said something of 
the kind to David on this occasion, but the reference seemed 
to wound him. 

“My dearest mother,” he replied, “if you wish to please 
me you will never speak of me in such terms again. It is 
only because you wish me so much to be good, that you 
imagine I am so. I wish that I were — for your sake as well 
as my own — that is the only merit I can claim for myself. 
See how singularly blessed I have been in the possession 


PARSON’ JONES. 


17 


of such parents and such a wife and children as mine ! I 
should be a brute and not a man if I were not contented 
and happy. Sometimes I fear I am almost ioo happy, and 
that such a life cannot last for long.” 

‘‘ Oh, no ; my son, do not say that ; do not think it ! ” 
exclaimed Mary Jones, “it is doubting God’s ability and 
willingness to reward his own. You have dedicated your 
life to his service, and in return he gives you the reward of 
the faithful. Is it not promised in the Bible that the seed 
of the righteous shall never be forsaken ? And if ever there 
was a righteous man, David, it was your dear father. He 
was an angel upon earth.” 

“I know it, mother, and yet we seldom see anyone enjoy 
an uninterrupted course of prosperity in this world, however 
much they may seem to deserve it. My poor father was 
taken away at the very time when he was expecting to reap 
the reward of his self-denial on my behalf. Well, well ! I 
must not doubt, but make the most of my blessings while I 
have them. But I often think my life is far too easy — far, 
far too easy.” 

This idea followed the parson into church and made his 
voice lower and sweeter than usual as he read the prayers, 
and the short discourse that succeeded them more earnest. 
His mother sat listening to him with moistened eyes. It 
seemed to her that he had never spoken so well or eloquently 
before. As she waited for him at the vestry door, after the 
service was concluded, she was joined by a lady called Mrs. 
Jefferson, whose husband owned one of the best properties 
in the neighborhood. 

Mrs. Jefferson thought a great deal of herself — a great 
deal more indeed than anyone else thought of her. She 
was always talking of the high moral and personal standard 
she had raised for her own guidance — a moral standard that 
did not include making her husband’s life happy, bnt that 


PARSON JONES. 


i8 

was a mere detail — and a personal standard, the only visible 
effect of which was to imbue Mrs. Jefferson with a high 
opinion of her own powers of fascination. She constantly 
did and said things which she would have been the first to 
condemn in other women, but which she imagined that her 
reputation for immaculate propriety enabled her to do with 
impunity. One of her delusions was, that she was still 
young and charming, or that at all events she looked so. It 
would have been impossible to convince her that her forty- 
five years were plainly marked upon her pinched features, 
or that her attenuated figure, with its eighteen-inch waist 
did not take at least twenty summers off her age. Had 
Mrs. Jefferson heard girls of seventeen talk as she talked of 
herself, she would have condemned them as conceited and 
overbearing, but it never struck her to view her own conduct 
in the same light. She was very fond of dress, and was 
attired on the present occasion in a preposterous manner 
for attendance at an evening service in a little country 
church. Her black satin dress was covered with a mass of 
sparkling beads — her wrists jingled with gold and jeweled 
bangles — and her bonnet had come straight from a Bond 
Street milliner. But she affected to have just run in as 
she was for a few words of spiritual refreshment from the 
minister’s lips. In short, Mrs. Jefferson was an unmitigated 
humbug. She had always aimed at extreme popularity, and 
was much disappointed at taking her place in the world at 
finding she possessed no means of attracting the multitude. 
She was mediocre all round. She had nothing but her hus- 
band’s money to distinguish her from the crowd. So then 
she tried to make little excitements for herself. One day it 
was politics — another, a passion for music, of which she did 
not know one note from another — and when she came round 
to the vestry door she had just taken up a craze for religion 
and spoke of it as if it had been the devotion of her lifetime. 


PARSOM JONES. 


19 


Old Mrs, Jones became quite flurried as she saw her 
approach. To tell truth, she was rather nervous of encoun- 
tering this very autocratic lady, who had taken lately to pop- 
ping into the parsonage at all sorts of odd times, as if the 
parson belonged to her, and putting his wife and mother to 
considerable inconvenience. She stepped a little into the 
shadow of the church wall in the hope of avoiding her, but 
Mrs. Jefferson was too sharp-sighted for her. 

“Ah, Mrs. Jones ! “ she exclaimed, “is that you ? Has 
the minister come out yet ? I wish to speak to him most 
particularly. I have run round on purpose to catch him.” 

“ My son has not disrobed yet,” replied the old lady, with 
considerable dignity, “I am waiting for him myself, Mrs. 
Jefferson. But I know that he is tired to-night and anxious 
to get home. I should feel it a favor if you would defer 
what you may have to say to him until to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Jones will not mind me,” returned Mrs. Jeffer- 
son, “ it is not as if I were anybody, you know ! He and I 
are such very good friends, naturally. How could it be 
otherwise, with our feet set on the same path ? Perhaps if 
it were Mrs. Browne or Miss Taylor he might ask them to 
postpone their communication, but he knows the standard 
I have set up for myself, and that I could never think of 
detaining him unless it were for something of the utmost 
importance.” 

“My David is very fond of Miss Taylor. She is god- 
mother to our little Lina, and we look upon her as one of 
our best friends,” replied Mrs. Jones, her honest blood 
boiling with the indignity put upon her old acquaintance, 
“ and I am sure if my son, the minister, would put himself 
out of the way for anybody it would be for dear Susan 
Taylor.” 

“ Ah, here he is ! ” cried Mrs. Jefferson, as Parson Jones 
issued from the low vestry door. “Dear Mr. Jones, you 


20 


PARSON' JONES, 


must come back with me to Heddlewick to-night. Now I 
will take no denial. I have a matter of the greatest im- 
portance to consult you upon — some of the Lord’s work, 
you know, which must never be allowed to wait.” 

“ Is anyone seriously ill ? ” inquired the parson, as she 
grasped his hand, “ I hope it is not your husband, Mrs. 
Jefferson.” 

‘‘ Oh, Captain Jefferson ! ” returned the lady with an ac- 
cent of contempt. No, indeed ! You know that he and 
I are not of the same opinion. I asked him to accompany 
me this evening, but you can imagine the sort of answer I 
received. I left him at his dinner, as usual — drinking wine 
and eating dessert. That is much more to his liking than 
prayers.” 

“ Does Captain Jefferson like your coming to evening 
service and leaving him to eat his dinner alone ? ” demanded 
Mrs. Jones, who much distrusted the sincerity of their 
companion. 

‘‘Were I to attend to all Captain Jefferson’s objections 
to my following the true path, or the impediments he would 
put in the way of my religion,” retorted Mrs. Jefferson, “ I 
should never go to church at all. But we have no time to 
discuss that sad question now. You will come back with 
me, Mr. Jones, will you not? My carriage is waiting for us, 
and we shall find some simple little repast awaiting our 
return.” 

“Indeed, you must excuse me this evening, Mrs. Jeffer- 
son,” replied the parson, “ I must take my mother home ; 
besides my wife is expecting me.” 

. “ How very annoying ! ” exclaimed the lady, with more 
truth than politeness. “Surely Mrs. Jones would excuse 
you. You must so often have parochial duties to attend 
to. And as for your mother, could we not drive round to 
the parsonage and drop her first ? ” 


PARSON- JONES. 


21 

But the parson was firm, and drew his old mother’s arm 
through his own. “No, Mrs. Jefferson, thank you,” he 
said. “Were it my duty to accompany you I should put 
everything else on one side. But since it is only my advice 
you want, I must ask you to postpone our meeting till to- 
morrow. One of my children is not well, and I am anxious 
to return to my wife.” 

“Oh, very well !”said Mrs. Jefferson, with a toss of her 
head. “ But I shall expect you to-morrow morning without 
fail. Don’t be later than eleven, and come prepared to 
stay to lunch.” 

Parson Jones wrinkled his brow with thought. 

“ David, my dear,” interposed his mother, “you cannot 
attend on Mrs. Jefferson to-morrow morning. You hold 
you first communion class at twelve o’clock.” 

“ You are right, mother, and I had not forgotten it. You 
see, Mrs. Jefferson, that I am compelled to refuse your kind 
invitation for so early an hour. Will you name some other 
time?” 

“ If it is inevitable, I suppose I must give in,” said Mrs. 
Jefferson rather crossly. “Will you then come over to 
Heddlewick in the afternoon, say at four ? ” 

“ I shall be very happy,” said the parson, as he bowed and 
turned away. 

“ Why did you consent to go to Heddlewick, my dear ? ” 
asked Mrs. Jones, as they moved out of hearing, “ such a 
presuming, unpleasant woman ! I am sure she is not sin- 
cere. Do you like her ? ” 

“ My dearest mother, if I only visited those people whom 

I liked ” He shrugged his broad shoulders as a finish to 

his sentence. 

“ Eh, passon ! but is that yew ? And the passon’s la-ady 
tew,” cried a quavering voice at their side. It was dark by 
this time, and the mists from the river that Parson Jones had 


22 FA SOM JONES. 

predicted had risen, and made only the outlines of figures 
distinguishable. 

‘‘ Why, Granny Dawes, ” he said, recognizing the voice, 
“what are you doing out so late and so far from home ? ” 

“Eh, passon ! but I’m forced to goto Whetham to-night. 
My poor Rosa’s girl — mad little Nellie, what you objected to 
marrying to Tom Mason last year and whew runned awa-ay 
and got married in Swansea — you mind, passon and my 
la-ady — she’s took, poor lamb, with her first trouble, and cry- 
ing out for her old granny. So Tm fain to go, though it’s 
four weary mile to Whetham and I don’t quite know how 
I’ll get theer. But I’m fain to go, if I drop on the way.” 

“But it is impossible ! ” exclaimed David Jones, as he re- 
garded the old woman’s bent body and shaking frame, “you 
will never get there, granny, and you will be too tired to be 
of any use to Nellie if you do. You had much better go 
home and get some younger woman to take your place. 
Why, you were eighty on your last birthday, weren’t you ? ” 

“Well, passon, dear ! and if I was — what then? I can 
crawl along somehow, bless ye ! And whew do yew think 
would take the trouble for the poor bairn that her old granny 
would ? No, no ! I must go when Nelly needs me, or I’d 
never have the face to meet my poor Rosa in Heaven.” 

“She must not go ; it will kill the old creature, David, ” 
said Mary Jones. “ Why, she is five years older than I am, 
my dear ; and fancy my walking to Whetham ! Oh, it is cruel 
to think of.” 

“ I will put Toby in the chaise and drive her over,” replied 
her son, without any hesitation. 

“ But, my dear boy, your supper ! ” said his mother, her 
maternal anxiety aroused at once. 

“ Never mind the supper. I will take it with you and 
Lina when I return. But this good old creature must not 
be allowed to risk her failing strength like this. Come up 


FA so AT JONES. 


23 


to the parsonage, Granny Dawes, ” he continued to their 
companion, “ and my wife will give you some supper, and 
then I will drive you over to Whetham in my chaise.’' 

“Oh, then, the blessing of God Almighty be on your 
head, passon, dear ! ” replied the old woman, crying in the 
excess of her gratitude. “ It’s no wonder the people love 
you from one end of the parish to the other ! Oh, it’s good 
you are ; but the Lord will reward you, my dear, for we can’t 
never do it.” 

Mary Jones’ heart glowed at these words, so much in 
consonance with her own feelings, and she placed her fail- 
ing arm under that of her still more aged companion, and 
led her to the house. Mollie and Owen and Hughie were 
on the steps watching for the first glimpse of their father, 
and great was their disappointment when they heard he had 
to go out again immediately. 

“ Now, Lina, dear ! ” exclaimed the parson, as his wife 
came into the hall to greet him, “ get some supper as quickly 
as you can for our friend here, for I am going to put Toby 
into the chaise and drive her over to Whetham.” 

“ Oh, what is the matter ? ” cried Selina sympathetically. 

“ Her granddaughter — little Nelly Mason, you know — is 
taken in labor with her first child, and her good grand- 
mother was trying to get over to her assistance on foot. 
Four miles — only fancy ! It is a mercy we met her. Now, 
love, make as much haste as you can, for she will not be 
satisfied if she does not start as soon as the trap is 
ready.” 

“ But what can Granny Dawes do when she gets there, 
David ? ” said Lina. “ She is too feeble to exert herself. 
Let me go with her, my dear. I have often been at such 
scenes before, and I don’t believe there is a doctor any- 
where near Whetham. It is a mining district, you know.” 

“ But shall you be easy to leave your baby, dear ? Has she 


24 


PARSON- JONES. 


been asleep during our absence ? Does she seem better ? ’’ 
demanded her husband anxiously. 

“ Yes, much better ; but if she were not, what is her 
plight compared to poor Nelly’s ? I may go, David, may I 
not ? I can walk back the first thing in the morning.” 

Yes, my dear, go by all means, since your kind heart 
prompts you to do so. Far be it from me to put the slightest 
obstacle in the way of your womanly benevolence. I have 
no doubt you will be of infinite comfort and assistance to 
the poor girl in her trouble. But you must not go till you 
have had some supper. Don’t wait for me. I shall have 
mine with grandmamma when I comeback from Whetham.” 

He went off smiling to the stables, armed with a horn lan- 
tern, as he spoke, for the lad who usually helped him did not 
sleep in the house and had long ago departed for his own 
home. Selina went to assume her outdoor apparel and to 
put a few little things together that she thought might be 
useful to the expectant mother, while Mrs. Jones plied old 
Granny Dawes with bread-and-cheese and a slice of home- 
made cake, washed down with a hot cup of tea. By the 
time that Toby had condescended to get into his harness 
and drag the chaise round to the hall door, both the good 
Samaritans were ready to start on their work of charity. 
Mary Jones stood at the door and watched them wend slowly 
down the drive. Her heart swelled with pride and thanks- 
giving as she did so. This was what she had brought her 
beloved son into the world for: to see him relinquish all his 
own inclinations at the call of humanity — to spare no trouble 
as long as he could be “ spent for his brethren.” And'Selina 
was a helpmeet for him too, in every sense of the word. It 
was true that Selina loved the excitement of a birth, a death, 
or a funeral ; Mrs. Jones was not going to give her more 
than her due, still Selina was a true, good woman, and had 
done her duty by her beloved son and his children. Yes, 


PARSON JONES. 


25 


Mary Jones felt that she had indeed reason to be grateful. 
The urgent demands of her grandchildren for their share 
of the supper roused her from her reverie and brought her 
thoughts back to the things of this world. She had promised 
Lina, also, that the baby should share her couch that night, 
instead of being left to the charge of the young nurse ; so 
she had plenty to think of and to do, until she heard the 
wheels of the pony chaise scraping up the drive again, and 
after a brief interval the parson came into the dining room 
to share her supper with her. But he appeared to be more 
thoughtful than he had been, and after a while his mother 
asked him if he had found matters worse at Whetham than 
he had anticipated. 

“ On the contrary, mother, Lina reported that Nellie had 
more comforts about her than she had considered possible. 
The young husband seems to be a respectable and hard 
working fellow. But what children to take upon themselves 
the responsibilities of life. He was nineteen and she six- 
teen when they were married. Now in a few hours they 
will be father and mother ! It is terrible — terrible ! ” 

“ Yes, it must be very terrible to marry before one knows 
one’s own mind,” acquiesced his mother. “ Why, they 
might meet a dozen people they liked better, and then what 
will become of the poor undisciplined creatures?” 

“ What indeed ? That was what was in my mind when I 
objected to put up their banns last year. But you see they 
would not heed me. They thought they knew better than 
I did.” 

Ah, David,” remarked old Mrs. Jones, shaking her 
head, “ I am afraid when young people fall in love, they 
listen to their own hearts before the minister. I remember 
when I first began to think about your dear father ” 

“ Well, no one can accuse you of having married before 
you knew your mind, mother,” said the parson, shaking off his 


26 


PARSON JONES. 


thoughtful mood, and expanding in a broad smile, “ if you 
didn’t know it in twenty years, I am afraid there must have 
been no mind there at all. But, hark ! that’s baby crying ! ” 
And in a moment the man had rushed upstairs, three steps 
at a time, and was bending over the infant’s cot with all the 
tenderness of a mother. “ What a little beauty she is,” he 
said, returning to the dining room, “ so fair, and soft, and 
sweet — so like a freshly opened flower in the early morning. 
I think if anything earthly could have the power to make 
a man lead a pure life, it would be finding himself the 
possessor of innocent little children. How can fathers and 
mothers sin ? ” Parson Jones remained dreamy and thought- 
ful for the rest of the evening, and when his mother sought 
the nursery for the purpose of transferring little Lina to her 
bed, she heard from the youthful nurse that the master had 
carried her off to his own. 


III. 

In the early dawn of the summer’s morning, Mary Jones 
crept into her son’s room to carry the infant away to take 
its first meal. There they lay together — the strong muscu- 
lar man and the little baby — Lina with her downy head 
snuggled under her father’s arm, which was cast lovingly 
around his child. Mary Jones stood for some moments 
and gazed at them in silence. The baby’s flushed and inno- 
cent face was a strong contrast to the man’s embrowned 
countenance and toil-hardened hand — yet one was not in 
effect more innocent than the other. Those gaunt, sinewy 
limbs were very much altered from the soft, pink hands and 
feet that Mary Jones had received with so much gratitude 
from God, but the heart with which David Jones had 
entered the world was not much more hardened than it had 


PARSON JONES. 


27 


been the day he was born. He was essentially unworldly, 
wise, pure in spirit, and good. 

“ Is that you, mother ? he said, roused from sleep by 
her attempt to remove the child. “ Are you going to take 
my little Lina from me ? She has been so good ! She has 
not waked all night.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, my dear, but her milk is ready for 
her and she will be crying for it soon. But I hoped to draw 
her away without waking you.” 

^‘But what time is it? Half past six ! I must get up 
too ! Tom will not be here till seven, and I promised Lina 
to fetch her home as early as possible.” 

“ Shall you go before breakfast ?” 

“ Oh, decidedly ! Lina is not likely to get a good one 
there. I hope I shall find that everything is safely over 
when I get to Whetham this morning. I don’t like lending 
out my wife in this way at all ! The house is not the same 
when she is away ! ” 

“ Of course not ! ” acquiesced his mother amiably, though, 
if the real truth had been known, she much preferred the 
parsonage without Selina, and thought that things went just as 
well (if not better) when the mistress was away. The par- 
son rose, hastily harnessed Toby to the trap, and was off to 
Whetham before his mother had gone downstairs. And 
within an hour he had brought Selina back again to break- 
fast in triumph. 

Selina was full of news. The baby had arrived at mid- 
night, and the young mother was doing as well as possible. 
A miner’s wife was in attendance on Nellie, and old Grannie 
Dawes would have nothing to do but nurse the baby, with 
which she was delighted. The young couple had been 
frugal enough to lay by a few pence against the coming 
emergency, and the infant was quite decently clothed. 

“ I had no idea there was so much good feeling in Tom 


28 


PARSON JONES. 


Mason before,” said Lina. “ He was sitting up all night in 
the deepest anxiety and distress about his wife. He said to 
me a dozen times : ‘ Oh, ma’am, if I’d a known as Nellie 
would a suffered like this, I’d a cut my throat afore I’d 
a married her ! ’ And when I went to tell him that the baby 
was born and Nellie was safe, and he’d got a fine little son, 
the poor young fellow laid his head down on the table and 
burst into tears.” 

“I don’t wonder at it,” remarked her mother-in-law. “ I 
remember when Mollie was born that my David here was 
just as bad ! And I don’t believe he was much better with 
little Lina ! It is a terrible trial for all men, and what those 
who have behaved badly to their wives must feel I can’t 
think.” 

“ Men who ill use their wives do not think at all,” said 
the parson. “To ill use a woman, especially the woman 
who has given her life up to you, and risked it over and 
over again to bring your children into the world, is the act 
of a brute and not a man. It is tantamount to ill-treating 
a little child or a defenseless animal. You should never 
speak or think of such men as human. They are beyond 
the pale of humanity.” 

He rose as he spoke and shook the crumbs off his long 
black coat. 

“I shall have my little maids here directly for their con- 
firmation class,” he said, “ and when they are gone, I must 
make a parish round. Will you come with me this morn- 
ing, mother ? It is a lovely day, but I may not be back till 
after dinner time, as I have to visit Brecknall.” 

“You have not forgotten that you promised to go to 
Heddlewick this afternoon, David,” said Mrs. Jones. 

The parson looked annoyed for a moment. 

“ Indeed ! I had, but of course I must keep my word. It 
is inconvenient, for I don’t know what other time I shall 


PARSON JONES. 


29 


have for Brecknall, and Mr. Brett wants to see me about 
this very confirmation business. Ah ! well, it cannot be 
helped : I promised and I must go.” 

“ What do they want you for at Heddlewick ?” demanded 
his wife. 

“ I don’t know, my love ; that is the provoking part of it. 
If I were sure it were of importance it would be all right. 
But Mrs. Jefferson had made me promise before I remem- 
bered Brecknall. She seemed very anxious to speak to me, 
but I have not the least idea what it is about.” 

“You are too easy and good-natured, my dear,” said his 
mother, “ and so she thinks she can do what she likes with 
you. I don’t like that Mrs. Jefferson. I distrust her. 
Why couldn’t she say what she had to say before me ? I 
don’t believe she has anything to tell you of importance. 
She only wants to gossip.” 

“ Here’s scandal ! ” cried the parson, laughing, as he pre- 
pared to leave the room. “ I really must not listen to it 
any more. Mother, I am ashamed of you. I have always 
considered you so free from that feminine vice. You will 
corrupt Lina if you go on like this,” and with a kiss all 
round he went off to his duties. 

“ He is too good — too unsuspecting,” said Mrs. Jones, 
looking after him. “ He is the sort of man to be taken in 
by any woman. He thinks no evil because he never prac- 
tices any. Not that I wish to insinuate, my dear Selina, 
that there is anything evil about Mrs. Jefferson, poor thing. 
No ; but she is silly, and conceited, and keeps our dear 
David talking about her feelings and fears when I don’t 
believe she has either. Her religion is her excitement 
while here, for want of a better. I should like to see how 
often she goes to church when she is up in London and out 
at parties and theaters every night.” 

“ Oh, grandmamma ! aren’t you rather hard on her ? ” ex- 


30 


PARSON JONES. 


claimed Selina, with her mouth open. She had not been 
used to hear old Mrs. Jones, who was indeed by nature one 
of the most charitable of women, pull her neighbors to 
pieces after this fashion. But if Mrs. Jones could ever 
belie her kindly nature, it would be on behalf of her son 
when she saw him, as she thought, put upon or deceived. 
However, she did not prevent his keeping his engagement 
with the obnoxious Mrs. Jefferson, and punctually at four 
o’clock Parson Jones was walking up the park-like drive of 
Heddlewick. 

Captain Jefferson was a rich man. He had retired from 
the army on the occasion of coming into a handsome prop- 
erty, bequeathed him by a defunct uncle, and had lived the 
life of a country gentleman ever since. He was a quiet, un- 
assuming man who would have made an indulgent and 
affectionate husband to any reasonable woman ; but Mrs. 
Jefferson was not a reasonable woman. Because her hus- 
band’s views did not coincide in every particular with her 
own, she chose to consider, and to speak of him, as if he 
were a most dissipated man and a lost soul. He allowed 
her to do just as she chose, and he bore all her innuendoes 
with equanimity, but the effect of her want of sympathy was 
to drive him to find amusement and companions for himself. 
Captain Jefferson never reproached or found fault with his 
wife, but there was no doubt they were an unhappily mated 
couple, and many of his dom camarades could have betrayed 
the fact that he lived his life entirely apart from hers. He 
went about it very quietly. There was never even the 
whisper of a scandal. Mrs. Jefferson sat at the head of his 
table, and received his guests, and enjoyed all the privileges 
of her position as his wife, and she would continue to do 
so as long as she lived. But the captain lived his own life 
and sought the company that was congenial to him, and 
no one was to blame for it but his unsympathetic wife. 


PARBON JONES. 


It 

Parson Jones knew nothing of all this. He was the last 
man to whom anyone in their senses would have confided 
the story of a misdemeanor with the hope of approval. All 
he had seen of Captain Jefferson he liked. He was always 
courteous and friendly when they met, and the parson ex- 
pected nothing more. As he entered Mrs. Jefferson’s draw- 
ing room on the present occasion, his first inquiry was for 
her husband. 

“I hope the captain's touch of gout is better, Mrs. Jeffer- 
son,” he said ; “ from not seeing him here, I presume he is 
out of doors again.” 

From not seeing him here^ dear Mr. Jones,” reiterated 
the lady ; “now when do you ever see Captain Jefferson 
here ? Where his wife may be is the last place where you 
are likely to find him. Our tastes do not assimilate suffi- 
ciently well for that.” 

“Well, well,” replied the parson, trying to soothe her 
evident asperity, “ it is hardly to be expected, you know, 
that the tastes of ladies and gentlemen should be the same, 
especially in the country. The captain is a crack shot ; I 
know that to my gain, for he has often been good enough in 
the season to send us a brace or so of birds, and very kind 
I thought it of him.” 

“ I am sure I am very glad to hear you say so,” returned 
Mrs. Jefferson with acidity, “it is not often that Captain 
Jefferson shows any civility to friends of mine. His friends 
are not, as a rule, my friends, and vice versa. I think I 
have told you that before, Mr. Jones.” 

“You have, but I have only half believed it, Mrs. Jeff- 
erson. Your husband and you have different tastes ; that 
is only natural, and need be no bar to your mutual affec- 
tion.” 

The lady tossed her head and dropped the subject for a 
little while. 


32 


PARSON JONES. 


“And now, may I ask what it is you have to say to me ? 
continued the parson. 

“ Dear me ! yes ! your painful allusion had almost put it 
out of my head. I am in great perplexity and trouble, Mr. 
Jones, and I want your help. You know I have a young 
lady with me of the name of Shaw.” 

“ I have heard you have a visitor staying at Heddlewick.” 

“ Oh, no ! she is not a visitor. She is the daughter of a 
deceased sister of Captain Jefferson, and I am afraid she is 
going to live with us altogether. She has no brother or 
sister — is without any near relations, in fact. It is very 
awkward ! I was most anxious that the captain should 
make some other arrangement for her — but you know what 
he is. My wishes are of no consequence with him.” 

“ But if Miss Shaw is so friendless, it seems the most 
natural thing that she should take up her abode with her 
uncle ; at all events until she marries. She is sure to marry 
some day,” continued the parson, smiling; “they all do ! ” 

“ Ah, well ! perhaps. It is very good of you to say so. 
But until then, it is terrible for me to be shut up in the house 
with such an uncongenial companion. We shall never get 
on together. Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Jefferson, lowering her 
voice, “ I am sure there is something wrong.” 

“ I do not understand you,” replied the parson. 

“ I mean with regard to Miss Shaw. She is most strange 
in her behavior. She is reticent and reserved, and keeps 
as much by herself as possible. She refuses to ride or drive 
with me, and only asks to be left alone. I can see that she 
has something on her mind — some great fault, perhaps, 
unconfessed and unrepented of. She will not confide in 
me — so I want you to help me.” 

“ But how can I possibly help you, Mrs. Jefferson ?” 

“By seeing the girl and talking to her, and urging her to 
open her mind to you as her pastor and teacher.” 


PARSON JONES. 


33 


The parson shrunk backward. 

^ Excuse me, Mrs. Jefferson, but it is not my business. 
Miss Shaw might well resent such a liberty from a perfect 
stranger. Why, I have never set eyes on the young lady 
yet. It would be unpardonable in me to presume to cate- 
chise her with regard to her private feelings.” 

“Unpardonable in a minister of the Gospel to inquire 
into the state of a sinner’s soul, Mr. Jones ? Oh, you cannot 
think of what you are saying ! While you stand on etiquette 
this unhappy girl may go to perdition.” 

“ I hope not, sincerely ! But what makes you think that 
Miss Shaw’s state of mind is due to anything but her recent 
loss ? Is that not enough to account for her melancholy 
and distaste to society ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! Her mother’s death happened some 
months ago, and she has been staying with friends ever 
since. No, Mr. Jones, it is the state of her soul ; I am con- 
vinced of it. The poor girl is suffering from remorse. She 
sees for the first time, perhaps, on associating with me what 
her past life has been. I know that my standard is a very 
high one — too high, perhaps, for ordinary people to follow — 
but it is impossible that she should not have perceived it. 
It may have discouraged her — I hope not — but if you find 
that to be the case, Mr. Jones, you must tell her that ‘they 
also serve who only stand and wait. ’ ” 

“Why do you not tell her so yourself, Mrs. Jefferson ? It 
strikes me you are the proper person to sound this young 
lady’s mind, especially as she has been thrown upon your 
care — as a sort of a daughter, in fact.” 

daughter! Oh, what are you thinking of? Fancy 
me with a daughter of twenty ! Why, I took Miss Shaw to 
call on the Gravilands (who were old friends of her mother’s) 
last week, and General Gravilands actually said that he con- 
sidered I looked the younger of the two. I went there 


34 


PARSON JONES, 


expressly for Miss Shaw’s sake ; but I could hardly get the 
general to interest himself in her at all, he was so engaged 
with me.” 

“ If you do not consider yourself old enough to speak to 
Miss Shaw as a mother,” resumed Parson Jones, with a 
touch of unconscious sarcasm, “ why do you not ask the 
captain to do so, Mrs. Jefferson? Perhaps as her uncle, 
and her late mother’s brother, he would be the better able 
to engage her confidence. If the poor girl is really suffering 
as you seem to imagine, it would be cruel to leave her 
entirely to her own sad thoughts.” 

“ Captain Jefferson ! ” exclaimed his companion in the 
same tone of contempt she had used before. “Oh! Mr. 
Jones, how little you know the sad life I lead, or the sort of 
man Captain Jefferson is ! He would ridicule my fears — 
he would laugh my anxiety to scorn. Captain Jefferson 
could never sympathize with a Christian's dread for the loss 
of a soul ! He would tell me to leave the poor unhappy 
child alone — to mind my own business — and he would ac- 
company his advice with such terrible language as your ears 
have probably never been subjected to.” 

“ You would not say that if you had heard some of the 
miners swear up Brecknall way, ” said David Jones, 
anxious to change the subject from the unfortunate cap- 
tain’s failings. “ But seriously, I do not see my way to 
helping you with Miss Shaw, certainly not while we remain 
strangers. Should she seek my counsel or advice, you may 
rely on my doing all for her that lies in my power.” 

“ Well ! I confess I am disappointed,” replied his hostess. 
“ I always am disappointed when I fail to carry out my little 
plans for another’s good. I suppose I am foolish to care so 
much about it, but it is my little way — to do all I can for 
others — to make them as happy as I can. We live so short 
a time in this world and do so little while we are here. My 


PARSON JONES. 


35 


idea is to do as much as I possibly can for others so that I 
may make a little more happiness for them while I am here. 
I know it is silly,” continued Mrs. Jefferson, pursing up her 
thin lips with affectation, “ but it is my little fad, though I 
suppose others would laugh at me for it.” 

“I am not prepared to say it is silly,” replied the parson, 
with perfect gravity, “ but there is a time for all things, you 
know, and it strikes me this is not quite the time, at all 
events for me, to intrude my counsel on Miss Shaw’s sor- 
rows, whatever they may be. But I will promise you to do 
the best I can to make friends with your niece — — ” 

“ Oh, pray don’t call her my niece, Mr. Jones,” interrupted 
Mrs. Jefferson, “ she is the captain’s, if you please ! There 
is none of my blood in her.” 

“Captain Jefferson’s niece^ then,” he continued with im- 
perturbable gravity. “ Since the young lady is to become 
an inmate of your establishment, I shall doubtless meet her 
before long and will do my best to gain her confidence. 
Does she not come to church with you ?” 

“ Yes, she has not presumed to refuse to do that yet ; 
though, when she complained of a headache last Sunday, her 
uncle was foolish enough to urge her to remain at home — 
quite pressed the girl in fact. But what can you expect of 
a man who never sets his foot within the house of God from 
one year’s end to another ? ” 

“Yes, I must say that Captain Jefferson is not a great 
credit to my powers of oratory or persuasion,” returned the 
parson with a laugh. 

“Oh, Mr. Jones ! and you can laugh at such fearful 
irreverence,” exclaimed Mrs. Jefferson with an affectation of 
horror. “ But have you not observed his niece in our 
pew?” 

“No, I cannot say I have. You sit some way off from 
the reading desk, you know. But my wife and ipother have 


36 


PARSON JONES. 


seen Miss Shaw. They have described her to me as a tall 
girl with dark hair and eyes.” 

“ Yes, that is she ! I suppose some people would call her 
pretty — her uncle is ridiculous on the subject and declares 
she is a beauty — but I can see no beauty without modesty ; 
and she has fine eyes undoubtedly, but a most unpleasant 
habit of rolling them about. Many people have noticed the 
same thing to me.” 

“ It is a pity people cannot find something better to em- 
ploy their time with than to try to set you against your hus- 
band’s family, Mrs. Jefferson,” said David Jones dryly. 

“Oh, it was done in perfect kindness, I assure you, Mr. 
Jones. However, to return to the matter in hand ; with Miss 
Shaw’s obstinacy and independence of spirit, I really do not 
know how I shall contrive to bring you together, unless you 
will come and dine with us in a friendly way. She has been 
here a month, and I have been unable to persuade her to 
call on any one of our neighbors except the Gravilands yet. 
But if you will come and dine with us on Friday, I can in- 
troduce you to her.” 

Now if there was one thing above another that David 
Jones dreaded it was being asked out to dinner. A thousand 
times over would he rather take his frugal meal at one 
o’clock with Selina and the children and cut up little 
Hughie’s meat and help Owen three times to pudding than 
dine on the fat of the land in another man’s house. He was 
not made for small talk and general society. He could be 
genial and merry enough in his family circle, but he became 
shy and silent before strangers. So he looked uncomfort- 
able when Mrs. Jefferson proposed his dining at Heddle- 
wick, and murmured something about being much obliged, 
but he was afraid that his wife would not consent to leave 
the baby just at present if he were not at home to take her 
place. 


PARSON JONES. 


37 


But then we will excuse Mrs. Jones,” replied his hostess 
with perfect complacency ; “ everybody knows what a 
mother she is, and how devoted to her little ones ; but that 
need not prevent our having the pleasure of seeing you, dear 
Mr. Jones, surely ! I ask you as our minister, you know — 
as one dedicated to the need of the suffering and the unre- 
pentant. I ask you to join our simple meal purely on 
account of this poor girl, that you may see if you can be of 
any use to her. You will not refuse to do what you can to 
help me in this great work, surely.” 

“ If you put it in that light, Mrs. Jefferson, I cannot, cer- 
tainly, refuse. But please to let me make friends (if I can 
make friends) with Miss Shaw in my own way, and above all 
things say nothing to her of the conversation we have just 
held. I am quite aware of my sacred office as a minister, 
but I also know what is due to the usages of the state of 
society we live in, and from one stranger to another.” 

“ Oh, of course you shall do just as you like,” replied 
Mrs. Jefferson, who did not quite like the way in which the 
parson had taken her communication. “ I shall leave you 
quite unfettered ; and, indeed, if she knew that I had spoken 
to you about her, I doubt if she would appear at the dinner 
table. She is so very extraordinary ! I hoped you would 
have seen her this afternoon, but my maid tells me that as 
soon as luncheon was over she put on her hat and went out, 
no one knows where, and has not been seen since.” 

“ Well, we must hope she will turn up on Friday,” said 
the parson, smiling, as he shook hands with her and took his 
leave. 

He was not quite satisfied with himself as he did so. 
How much he had longed to tell this vain, uncharitable, 
insincere woman exactly what he thought of her. He had 
gauged her character long before, and seen through all her 
affectations; but the etiquette of society held him back from 


38 


PARSON JONES. 


denouncing her as a fraud and a humbug, and he wondered 
if, as a minister of the Gospel, and a man who had vowed 
before God to uphold his laws and uproot vice, he was not 
committing a great sin himself in holding his tongue. He 
knew that the majority of parsons did not think with him in 
this particular. They could thunder a^iathema maranatha 
from the pulpit at all sinners in general — threats and curses 
which every man was ready to believe applied to his next 
door neighbor rather than to himself — but when it came to 
a personal hand-to-hand fight with sin they drew back and 
were silent. It was not their business to find individual 
fault. They feared to seem interfering or presuming. 
They lived in a very small community in the country. If 
they took too much upon themselves they would be likely to 
destroy the confidence between them and their parishioners, 
and lose the only opportunities they possessed of doing 
good. And the way they used these opportunities was by 
going out to dinner whenever they received an invitation, 
and making themselves very jolly and friendly with the men 
and women whose vices they knew of, but were afraid to 
condemn. 

Is this not true of most ministers — so-called — of the Gos- 
pel ? When do the shepherds go after the missing sheep ? 
They bawl at them from the pulpit, and they sing at them 
by means of a choir, but the very people whom their adjura- 
tions to repentance are intended to reach are not there to 
hear them. They preach at the righteous few, and leave the 
unrepentant sinners in the wilderness. Can it be that they 
are afraid to tackle them on their own ground, or has the 
term of “ minister ” lost its significance and upholders of 
the Faith sunk down to be lay figures, set up every Sunday 
to go through a certain number of gymnastics for the satis- 
faction of those people who imagine they will be eternally 
lost unless they go to church ? David Jones knew that 


PARSON JONES. 


39 


such things were, and such men existed. He had often 
thought of it and wondered over it, and his mind was full of 
it as he wallced back from Heddlewick that day. What 
Mrs. Jefferson had proposed for him to do — always suppos- 
ing that her ideas concerning Miss Shaw’s state of mind 
were correct— was surely within the range of his duties, and 
yet how he had shrunk from the notion as if she had asked 
him to do something brutal. And if he had fallen in with 
her views, and attacked the young stranger on the subject 
of her trouble without any better right than his profession 
as a guardian of souls gave him, would the girl not have 
resented it as a liberty ; might not Captain Jefferson have 
turned him out of his house — only not kicking him out on 
account of the orthodox deference to his cloth — for insulting 
his niece ? What, then, became of his fancied rights as a 
man ordained for the saving of souls ? Was it only an hon- 
orary appointment, or had the people grown beyond the 
offices of a teacher and begun to learn for themselves ? 
Parson Jones knew that they paid very little attention to 
what was said to them in church. 

A sermon to the congregation was a good or bad one, 
according to whether it hit the right nail on the head for 
them or not. As for the prayers, which they had listened 
to every Sunday of their lives, he felt that they knew them 
word for word, as well as he did, and since prayer is the lan- 
guage of the soul to God, souls can no more pray in set lan- 
■guage that has been made for them, than a son could ad- 
dress his father from the depths of his heart in a formal 
speech that he had learnt beforehand. The Book of Com- 
mon Prayer was compiled at a time when scarcely any- 
body could read, and very few think for themselves. It 
seemed sometimes to David Jones as if it were almost an 
insult to the thinking soul to read its prayers out for it, as 
if it were a baby and could not express its own thoughts to 


40 


PARSON JONES. 


God. And what too of the earnestness of the worship paid 
to an omnipotent Creator, that is monotonously repeated in 
the same words — the same tone — week after week, through- 
out the cycle of years ? 

Absorbed in his reverie, Parson Jones found he had 
reached the little church of Llanty-gollen, without knowing 
he had strolled that way. It was one of the quaintest little 
churches in all Wales. A long, low building, than which 
many a ballroom is larger, with a red tiled roof and a white- 
washed interior. There was not a resident squire for miles 
around Llanty-gollen who would not have been ashamed to 
house his servants in so uncomfortable and miserable-look- 
ing a place — not many servants would have consented to 
eat and drink there. It was damp and musty. In winter 
the water ran down the walls, and rats chased each other over 
the moth-eaten cushions of the narrow, old-fashioned pews. 
A raised gallery at one end held the village choir, who were 
led on their course of destruction (of harmony) by a har- 
monium and a violin. Parson Jones had long tried to ban- 
ish the violin, but he was an institution in Llanty-gollen and 
related to almost all the parishioners, so it was questionable 
if he were banished whether he would not take most of the 
congregation with him. Neither had the parson the power 
to banish the rats, or repair the leaking walls. His stipend 
was too small for the need of his family as it was, and many 
a little luxury that they enjoyed came out of *his old 
mother’s purse. He had appealed to the Ecclesiastical 
Commissioners of the Bishopric in vain. They had too 
many other expenses to attend to. Llanty-gollen must go 
as it was. The bishop’s palace required alteration that year. 
His lordship had no forcing-houses on the estate, and he 
had demanded a gymnasium to be built out back of the 
palace for the use of his sons. Naturally, when a bishop’s 
cubs required a gymnasium, the Lord might wait to have his 


PARSON JONES, 


41 


house made water-tight. Parson Jones had even appealed 
to the great man himself, but as he was not a county man, 
nor a member of Parliament, but only a poor parson on one 
hundred and twenty pounds a year, the bishop was not likely 
to be able to attend to what he had to say. The bishop was 
one sort of minister of God and David Jones was another, 
that was pre-evident. The bishop was a great big fat hum- 
bug, who was supported by the people who did not want 
him, and supported him most unwillingly, while he did noth- 
ing in return but draw his stipend and eat and drink it up — 
while the underpaid parson had half a dozen hamlets with 
a combined population of about five thousand souls under 
his charge, and hardly enough money to keep his body and 
soul together when his long day’s work was done. Not that 
David Jones ever complained. He only thought and won- 
dered. But wretched in appearance as was Llanty-gollen 
church, it was almost atoned for by its churchyard. 
Llanty-gollen was a very healthy place. People seldom died 
there, except of old age, so that the graves were few, and 
many of those of great antiquity. The tombs were of the 
good old-fashioned shape, and the inscriptions were so simi- 
lar that when you had read one you seemed to have read 
all ; and it was wonderful, when you came to think of it, how 
a disconsolate widower, going to shed a furtive tear on the 
departed’s grave, contrived not to gush over that of his 
neighbor’s husband instead. For the village poet had 
utilised his muse to such an extent, that by a cunning twist 
of his pen, the same stanza served for everybody. Thus you 
might read on one grave : 


Farewell to all we held most dear, 
A tender wife lies buried here, 

She was too good to live with we, 
So He took her to live with He, 


42 


PARSON JONES. 


And on the very next one to it, perhaps : 

Farewell to all I held most dear, 

A loving husband is buried here, 

He was too good to bide with me 
So God called him to bide with He. 

And the most remarkable part of it was that the mourners 
— perhaps too much absorbed in their grief — never appeared 
to catch the quaint humor of their poet’s wit. But while 
the graves stood as monuments of ridicule, the trees and 
shrubs planted over the remains of friends and relatives 
grew, and flourished, and became beautiful, and did their 
utmost to cover the village poet’s delinquencies. Yew 
trees, with their clear red waxen berries, weeping willows, 
laurestinus, and ivy grew over and above the green mounds 
in profusion, which were furthermore decorated with rich 
yellow marigolds, pale blue periwinkles, and pink saxifrage. 
This little, peaceful graveyard had always been a favorite 
spot with Parson Jones. Here, though so quiet and lonely, 
there was no monotony. The leaves and flowers changed 
with each passing day. Last week the mounds had been 
ablaze with scarlet pimpernel, and this they were overrun 
by the blue shepherd’s purse. He would stoop down even 
to admire the delicate beauty of the little white blossoms of 
the chickweed, for to this man all nature was a never-failing 
source of pleasure. He often came to Llanty-gollen church- 
yard to think over and compose his discourses — those ser- 
mons which his doting old mother thought so eloquent, and 
he knew to be so tame. And, as he entered it on the present 
occasion, he was just beginning to think what he should 
talk about to his people on the following Sunday, when his 
attention was attracted toward a solitary figure sitting on 
ppe of the green mounds. 


PARSON JONES. 


43 


IV. 


It was the form of a young woman dressed in the deepest 
mourning, and he guessed at once that she must be Miss 
Shaw. Strangers were so few and far between in Llanty- 
gollen that it was a wonder he had not come upon her in 
some of the village lanes or fields long before this ; and had 
she not scrupulously kept out of his way, and that of all 
others, he must have done so. She was leaning rather than 
sitting on one of the worst kept graves in the churchyard — 
that of an old man who had been the last of his race in 
Llanty-gollen. The grass upon the mound was long and 
rank — stinging nettles and dock-leaves grew with it, and the 
rough wooden cross at the head had tumbled all on one 
side. The girl lay at half length With her head resting 
wearily against the crooked cross and her hands folded list- 
lessly upon her lap. Her broad-brimmed black hat was 
crushed against the wooden timbers, her eyes were half 
closed, her whole attitude denoted an utter indifference to 
everything about her. The parson paused. With the 
description given to him by Mrs. Jefferson of the young 
stranger fresh in his mind, he was not quite sure if he 
would not give offense by addressing her. But the arrest 
of his footsteps on the graveled path attracted her attention, 
and she opened her eyes and turned them upon him. Then 
his long clerical coat evidently advised her of his personal- 
ity and she sat more upright and slightly inclined her head. 
Parson Jones raised his hat and the introduction was com- 
plete. He ventured to approach her then and to say a few 
words. 

“ Pardon me ! ” he commenced, “ but, if I am not very 
much mistaken, I am addressing Miss Shaw.” 

“ Yes, that is my name,” she answered, “ and you are 


44 


PARSON JONES. 


the clergyman, are you not ? I have seen you in church. 
But I don’t know how you came to know my name.” 

“By a very simple method, Miss Shaw. I have just been 
talking of you with your uncle’s wife, Mrs. Jefferson.” 

A very perceptible look of contempt curled up the girl’s 
lip. 

“And did you hear much good of me from her, Mr. 
Jones ? ” she asked. 

“ I heard nothing but what greatly interested me. Miss 
Shaw. You are passing under a heavy cloud — such as most 
of us have, at one time or another, experienced. That 
alone should make all your fellow-creatures sympathize with 
you.” 

“ Should it ? ” she said listlessly, 

“ Why certainly ! Who would not feel for and with you ? 
But may I give you a little piece of advice ? You are sitting 
on a patch of long grass, and our Welsh evenings are rather 
treacherous. The air feels warm, but a lot of mist rises 
from our wood-crowned hills and settles in the valleys. If 
you put your hand on the grass you would find it is very 
damp, and your dress is thin. Will you pardon me for 
speaking so plainly, but I am an old married man, and know 
all about these things, and I should be sorry that you should 
catch cold for want of warning.” 

“ Thank you,” replied the girl rising. “ It is kind of you 
to have noticed it. Yes,” she continued, laying her un- 
gloved hand upon the grass, “you are right ; it is quite wet.” 

“ It is so long, you see,” said Parson Jones. “ That is an 
unhappy grave. No one minds it or cares if it looks tidy. 
I have a little daughter called Mollie, and sometimes I send 
her up here to trim it with her gardening tools. It seems so 
sad that no one should do it.” 

“And why does no one do it ? ” demanded Miss Shaw, 
turning toward him. David Jones thought that Captain 


PARSON JONES. 


45 


Jefferson was quite right when he called her beautiful. She 
was a tall girl, but not too tall — only enough so to make her 
slight figure look very graceful and elegant. Her hands 
were small for her height — perhaps Parson Jones observed 
this the first thing, because his own limbs were so huge and 
ungainly — and they were long, thin, white hands that looked 
like marble against her black dress. Her face was oval in 
shape and absolutely without color, and her large dark brown 
eyes seemed weird and ghostly in the midst of such pale 
surroundings. She had a delicate nose and chin, and a 
sweet pathetic mouth like that of a vexed child. But with 
all the pathos of her appearance there was mingled a look 
of pride that told the spectator that, if she had suffered, she 
would resent any allusion to her grief. As she turned her 
sad face to the minister now, it was only as if she wanted 
something to say and not from taking the slightest interest 
in the subject she spoke on. 

But David Jones answered her quite seriously. 

“ Well ! the old man who lies buried here was called Am- 
brose Watts, and he was pretty nearly the last of his people, 
at least if there are any of his family existent they are be- 
yond seas. The poor old fellow died quite alone, except for 
friends, and his grave belongs to no one in particular. So 
we sometimes do what we can to keep it from looking so 
totally neglected. But it has fallen desperately behind hand 
of late, the rains we have had made all vegetation grow so 
fast. I must certainly send my Mollie up here to-morrow.” 

“ It is a kind thought,” said Miss Shaw, “ but it seems to 
me to be taking a lot of unnecessary trouble. It would be 
far better to bury people and put no remembrance over 
them. When they are gone, they are gone. Why should 
we concern ourselves about a handful of dust. They can 
never trouble about it more.” 

'‘You are quite right, but don’t you think our loving 


46 PARSON JONES. 

thoughts may reach them where they are, and give them 
pleasure ? ” 

But where are they ? ” asked Miss Shaw. 

The parson paused. He did not know exactly where the 
departed sojourned, but he wanted to administer comfort to 
this evidently suffering young heart. 

“We cannot say for certain where our dear friends who 
have left us may be," he said slowly, “ but we may feel sure 
that they are in God’s safe keeping, and that whatever he 
thinks best for them, must be best.” 

“Even if they have gone to your orthodox hell ? ” de- 
manded Miss Shaw. 

“ We must not think of anything so terrible as that, my 
dear young friend, as connected with those whom we mourn. 
Even if we are not assured of their immortal safety, we can 
always hope and remember that there is no limit to the 
mercy of God.” 

“ Well, it does not affect 7neJ replied the young lady, 
“for I do not believe in any hereafter, nor did my dear 
mother. She believed that when she slept the sleep of death 
it would be forever — that there would be no more awakening 
for her to either pain or pleasure, and I am glad to believe 
it for her and for myself — that she is happy because uncon- 
scious for evermore, and that when I die I shall be the same 
— sunk forever in a dreamless, peaceful sleep.” 

Parson Jones became quite excited. It was terrible to 
his kindly nature to find so young a creature without any 
hope for the next world. He believed he had discovered 
the secret of her melancholy — that secret which she had 
refused to confide to her uncle’s wife, but which he had 
sounded at the first touch. He drew nearer to her side, and 
his honest rugged features glowed with feeling as he said : 

“ But, my dear Miss Shaw, you are mistaken. How can 
you think of such a thing for a moment ? What do you 


PAkSON JOr^EA. 47 

imagine becomes of your soul when death parts it from your 
body? That must live forever, you know." 

“Why?" demanded Miss Shaw, and then, before he had 
time to answer her question, she put another : “ What is my 
soul ?" she said. 

The parson stood before her in silence. He had never 
been so completely nonplussed in the whole course of his 
simple life before. What proof had he to offer this benighted 
mind that the soul lived forever ? What proof that she had 
any soul at all ? Cleverer men than himself had asserted 
that there was not such a thing as a soul — that human crea- 
tures possessed only a spirit and a body, and this spirit had 
been ascribed successively to the heart, the brain, and the 
nerves — no one man of science being able to decide, without 
doubt, what it was, or where it dwelt. How much he wished 
he had anything definite at that moment to say to this girl 
about it. But after all, when he came to reflect, he could 
only fall back on the Scriptures, and they held no proof, 
only theories which Miss Shaw had, doubtless, discussed 
and cast aside over and over again. Yet he felt bound to 
advance them. 

“ My dear young friend," he commenced, in the orthodox 
clerical manner, “ surely you have read your Bible." 

“ Oh, yes, sir ! I have studied it for years. I think I 
know it almost by heart. It is a wonderful book, and 
beautifully written." 

“ And yet you can ask me what your soul is ? " 

“ Certainly ! the Bible has not taught it me. It speaks 
of the soul of man, but how does that prove that there is 
one? I want proofs Mr. Jones, proof. And failing proof, 
I prefer to believe, as my dear mother believed, that I 
have none." 

“ It grieves me very much to hear you say so," said Par- 
son Jones, shaking his head. 


48 


PARSON- JONES. 


I don't know why it should do so," replied Miss Shaw | 
“I am quite a stranger to you. You can have no interest 
in my belief. Why not let me hold that which makes me 
most happy ? " 

“ But does it make you happy, Miss Shaw ? " 

She colored faintly as she replied : 

" No one is happy in this world. It is an impossibility. 
I am quite as contented as my neighbors." 

“But it is not true that no one is happy in this world," 
exclaimed the parson eagerly. “You asked for proofs just 
now. I can at all events give you a proof of this* / am 
happy — far too happy, indeed, for my deserts. I do not 
know what it is to have had a wish ungratified in my life. 
While / live, you must not say again that no one is happy ! " 

The girl looked at him, as if he had been some curious 
animal. 

“You are perfectly happy?" she said. “What makes 
you so ? " 

“ The best of wives and mothers and the dearest little 
children," he rejoined enthusiastically. “Common bless- 
ings, I allow, and such as, thank GoJ hundreds of men 
enjoy, but sufficient to make life one long holiday. And 
blessings that may come to all of us in time. Miss Shaw," 
he added, with a significance that seemed to arouse her pride. 

“But blessings that we may not all desire, or consider 
such, Mr. Jones," she replied haughtily. “However, I am 
glad to hear that you can appreciate them. Have you any 
children ? " 

“ Two daughters and two sons. Such bonny little girls, 
though I say it, and such fine healthy boys ! I am sure if 
you saw them. Miss Shaw, that you would say a man who 
did not appreciate and love them must be the most ungrateful 
creature upon earth." 

“ I am sure they must be charming. But they are not 


PARSON JONES. 49 

immortal. What if you lose them ! Where will your hap- 
piness be then ? ” 

David Jones’ lip trembled for a moment, and he could 
not trust himself to answer her. But in a little while he 
said in a low voice : 

“They would still be mine, Miss Shaw.” 

“ Ah, I forgot ! you hold the belief in an after life. 
Well, it must be a very comfortable doctrine. But I have 
intruded on you unpardonably, Mr. Jones. You have quite 
led me out of myself. Will you forgive me for wasting your 
time in this manner ? ” 

“ You have no need to ask my forgiveness. Miss Shaw. 
I only wish I could have said something to convince you 
that my view of life is the true one. Yet I can only reiterate 
my belief in it. But I wish — I wish ” 

“ What is it that you wish ? ” she asked, with her grave 
eyes fixed on his own. 

“I am so afraid (having heard from Mrs. Jefferson that 
you have refused to visit anywhere) that you may think I 
presume in asking you, but I do wish so much that you 
would come and see my wife.” 

But, at the bare mention of such a thing. Miss Shaw 
seemed to shrink into her shell. 

“ Oh, please don’t ask me ! I could not, indeed ! I so 
much dislike the idea of meeting strangers. I could not 
have talked as I have done to-day if you had not been a 
clergyman. My loss is so recent ” 

She stopped here, and her eyes filled with tears. David 
Jones felt as if he were a brute to have proposed it. 

“ Oh, of course. Don’t think I forget it, only my wife is 
so good and tender and sympathetic, that I feel sure you 
would be at home with her directly. She is one of the best 
women in the world. Miss Shaw, such a devoted mother ! 
such a kind wife. She feels for all. And my dear old 


PARSOlSf JONES. 


5 <^ 

mother too, now in her seventy-fifth year, but as active ^s 
a girl. She could tell you, so much better than I can, how 
the whole of our lives here below, even the griefs we suffer 
while passing through them, are proofs that we live forever 
hereafter.” 

“ But I don’t want to believe it, Mr. Jones.” 

‘‘And my little children,” continued the parson, dis- 
regarding her interpolation. come and see them ! 

When you see what they are to their dear mother and my- 
self — when you remember what you doubtless were to your 
lost mother — you cannot fail to recognize that God could 
never have given us such affections and such objects on 
which to lavish them just to be buried in an earthly grave 
forever. Will you come ?” 

“ I do not know. I cannot promise,” replied Miss Shaw, 
“but I will see, Mr. Jones, I will see ! Meanwhile I thank 
you for your kindness, and, believe me, I am not ungrateful 
for it.” 

She held out her ungloved hand to him as she spoke, and 
Parson Jones in taking it felt, as if his own had closed over 
a fragile lily, which the slightest negligence on his part 
might crush. He would have liked to press it, but he did 
not dare for fear of disturbing their new-born friendship. 
But the smile with which he parted from her lit up his 
homely features to such a degree that Miss Shaw carried 
a very pleasant remembrance away with her of their encoun- 
ter. Yet she never told Mrs. Jefferson that they had met. 
The parson, on the contrary, could not talk enough of his 
new acquaintance. The subject of Miss Shaw lasted him 
through the whole of tea-time and during the walk which he 
took afterward with Selina in the garden. 

“She is without exception the most interesting girl, 
mother, that I have ever met,” he said to old Mrs. Jones ; 
“not exactly pretty, you know, but with such speaking 


PARSON JONES. 


51 


eyes ! Mrs. Jefferson said that the captain called her beau- 
tiful, and at first I was inclined to say that he was right. 
But when I came to look at her more closely I saw that she 
is too pale, perhaps, for beauty, and too thin. But she has 
soul written all over her face, though she won’t acknowl- 
edge it, and intellect into the bargain. But she is very 
sad — painfully so, for so young a creature.” 

“ How old should you say she was, David ? ” demanded 
his wife. 

“Her aunt told me she is just nineteen.” 

“ And she has very dark eyes, hasn’t she ? ” 

“ Very dark — so much so that I thought at the first glance 
that they were black. But when I looked closer I saw they 
were dark gray.” 

“ And what colored hair has the young lady, my dear ? ” 
asked his mother. 

“ I can hardly tell you, mother. She seems to have a 
great quantity, but it was all rolled up under an enormous 
hat. Why will ladies wear such preposterous headgear?” 

“ It is the fashion, David,” replied Selina, with superior 
wisdom. “ No one wears small hats now.” 

“ Oh, yes, some do,” rejoined the parson playfully. “ I 
know one lady who wears quite a little round hat, and very 
nice she looks in it, too.” 

Selina pouted. 

“ That’s only because I can’t afford to buy a new one, and 
I am sure I hate to see myself in the dowdy thing. But 
after all it really does not matter in this poky old place, 
where there is never a soul to see me.” 

“In my day,” interposed Mary Jones solemnly, “a minis- 
ter’s wife would as soon have dreamed of going out of doors 
without any covering to her head as putting a hat on it. 
They wore decent bonnets then — not flyaway things as the 
women do now, but close shapes of white or black straw, 


52 


PAliSON JONES. 


trimmed with a modest colored ribbon and tied neatly 
under the chin. And as for there being no one to see you 
in Llanty-gollen, Selina, I should like to know who you wish 
to see or admire you but your husband — the best husband a 
woman ever had, and one whom ” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, mother,” cried Parson Jones, trying to stem 
the torrent of his own praises, “ we’ve heard all that before. 
But I should be very sorry to see my Lina in one of those 
old bonnets all the same. I shouldn’t be able to see her 
dear face in church then, and that would spoil half of that 
wonderful eloquence of mine, of which you are so proud.” 

“ Oh, my dearest son,” exclaimed Mrs. Jones, in a tone of 
horror, “ you would never wish me to believe that you 
allow your thoughts to stray from your sacred office to 
such frivolous ideas as Selina’s face would inspire in your 
mind.” 

Parson Jones laughed heartily. 

“ My dear old mother ; they are not frivolous ideas at 
all. I look at her to see what I shall say next. Lina 
inspires me.” And he smiled affectionately at his wife. 

“You should look much higher than that iox inspiration, 
my son,” replied Mrs. Jones, almost ready to weep at the 
light tone in which her David had spoken. 

“ Oh, grandmamma ! ” exclaimed Selina, “ can’t you see he 
is only teasing you ? Hoiu could I inspire him ? It is only 
his fun. But tell us some more about Miss Shaw, dear.” 

“ I tried to persuade her to come to the parsonage, Lina, 
and she seemed half inclined to accept my invitation. I 
am in hopes you may prove a friend to her, poor girl. She 
evidently wants a woman friend. I could see by the expres- 
sion of her face, when I mentioned Mrs. Jefferson’s name, 
that she is not friendly with her uncle’s wife.” 

“ But, my dear David, do you think this Miss Shaw will 

pe a suitable acquaintance for our dear Selina? You know 


PARSON JONES. 


53 


that we cannot touch pitch without being defiled. And a 
young woman who rejects the kindly advice of her own 
relations, and refuses to believe that she has a soul, appears 
to me to be likely to prove a very dangerous person to make 
a friend of.” 

“ My dear mother ! I did not think you were so unchar- 
itable. How can we ever do any good, if we are so dread- 
fully afraid of being defiled by the contact with sin ? 
Besides, I consider that sin is far too harsh a term to apply 
to the error into which this poor child appears to have 
fallen. It was her mother’s teaching, remember. How 
should a girl do else but believe her own mother’s creed ? 
It is very sad, and very mistaken, doubtless, but it is a mis- 
take which can, with God’s help, be remedied. That must 
be a task of us all. I promised her help from you, mother. 
But it must be given imperceptibly, by example rather than 
by precept. I don’t think Miss Shaw would stand preach- 
ing just now. She seems sore and wounded — as if she were 
at warfare with the world. That horrid woman, Mrs. Jef- 
ferson ” 

‘‘ My dear son, is that a proper expression for a minister 
of the Gospel ? Sometimes I have thought you were getting 
a little careless of late.” 

“ No, mother ! I hope not. But what am I to call her ? 
She is horrid ! Surely I may speak as I feel, before you 
and Lina, who are like my second souls to me. She made 
me so impatient this afternoon, that I very nearly told her 
what I thought of her. She spoke so uncharitably — so 
harshly of this poor girl, who has so lately lost her mother, 
and has no relation but her uncle to look to for support. 
It must be a galling position for a proud girl as I see she is, 
and I almost think that Mrs. Jefferson grudges her a share 
in the captain’s large fortune, which must be sufficient to 
support twenty nieces without feelipg any diminution. And 


54 


PARSON JONES. 


then how she worried me into accepting her invitation to 
dinner next Friday. I could not have evaded it without 
telling a falsehood, which of course was impossible. But I 
would give a great deal to get out of it. I do so hate going 
out to dinner.” 

“But David, my dear,” said his mother, who was proud 
that he should be asked out to the houses of the gentry 
resident near Llanty-gollen, “ you must not forget that, in 
your responsible position, it becomes your duty to go among 
your parishioners sometimes.” 

“ But no one can accuse me of neglecting my duty in 
that particular, my dearest mother,” he replied, “ am I not 
with my people every afternoon — with some of them at all 
events. But it is not necessary that I should eat with 
them.” 

“ But why should you not, my dear ? I am not surprised 
that Mrs. Jefferson or anyone else should be anxious to 
secure your presence at their table. A minister sheds, as it 
were, a halo over every scene. He is a silent rebuke to sin- 
ners : a check upon vice and ribaldry. What a privilege it 
is ! what a blessed profession ! to be, as it were, a beacon 
light to expose wickedness and make the ungodly pause and 
think.” 

“ I can’t say you paint my calling in very attractive colors, 
mother,” rejoined the parson. “ I am afraid if I were all 
that you say people would run away when they saw me com- 
ing. It is certainly not for such virtues as you describe that 
Mrs. Jefferson wants me to dine at Heddlewick next Friday. 
She said it was simply so that I might become acquainted 
with her niece, and try to gain the confidence she has 
refused to her. But I believe she deceives herself. I think 
her secret wish is that I may discover something under cover 
of my profession that shall set Captain Jefferson against 
Miss Shaw, I may be mistaken, but I think not,” 


PARSON- JONES. 55 

“ But, David,” remonstrated his wife, “ you would never 
do such a thing, would you ? ” 

“ My dear Lina, what a silly question ! Have you seen 
any ritualistic tendencies in me ? Do you think I am going 
to set up a confessional in Llanty-gollen church and receive 
penitents ? If Miss Shaw should come to me as a clergyman 
and a friend to ask my advice in any difficulty, either spir- 
itual or temporal, I should do my best to give it to her, just 
as I should to you or any other fellow-creature. But I do 
not think she is likely to do so, or to require it. She is evi- 
dently very unhappy about her mother's death (although the 
lady whom my good mother there will not let me call 
^ horrid ’ will not allow that she feels her loss), and I sin- 
cerely hope that her religious doubts trouble her into the bar- 
gain. But I look to you, dear Lina, and the society of the 
little ones, to banish the unnatural and harassing views 
which have taken possession of her. You will help me in 
this great work, won’t you, my dearest, and receive this poor 
girl (if I can persuade her to visit us) with marked kindness 
and encouragement ? ” 

“ Why, of course she will, and be proud of the oppor- 
tunity,” answered his mother for his wife, “ and I should 
like to have a hand, too, in this blessed undertaking. Bring 
the poor young lady to us, dear David, and, when we have 
made her quite at home in the parsonage, you will be able to 
teach her the blessed truth that she has a soul to live in hap- 
piness or misery forever.” 

“ Oh, yes, dear ! ” chimed in his wife. “ If Miss Shaw is 
a nice girl it will be such a pleasure to me to have her often 
here. You know how I have missed the companionship of 
a young person of my own sex who would not be too grand 
with me. The ladtes round about Llanty-gollen, who only 
come for the shooting season with their husbands, are all so 
Stiff and fashionable that I can’t bear to go among them. I 


56 


PARSON JONES. 


always think they are laughing at my clothes or my manners, 
and I am half afraid of them. But if Miss Shaw is nice and 
pleasant she will be as great a boon to me as I may be to 
her — though I don’t know how.” 

“ Just by being yourself, my dearest Lina,” replied the 
parson fondly, as he threw one arm round his wife’s waist, 
“ and showing her how happy a good, an irfnocent woman 
may be. The poor young thing does not actually believe 
that there is such a thing as happiness in this world. If you 
can convince her of that you will have accomplished a great 
task. For how can there be happiness without a God to 
give it to us ? I look to you and my babies to preach Miss 
Shaw a better sermon than I could do. You are two dear, 
good women, and I don’t believe a man ever had such help- 
meets in the world before.” 

“ Perhaps no one else ever had such a son and husband 
to work for before,” commenced Mary Jones, but the parson 
stuck both his fingers in his ears and ran away into his 
garden, 

“ Come along, Lina,” he exclaimed, “ and see how many 
eggs the hens have laid to-day. The mater’s turned on the 
fireworks again, and I’ve no more blushes left. I never 
knew such a wicked old flatterer ; she is enough to destroy 
the modesty of the meekest of men. Do you know, my 
dear, that I have not a clean white neckcloth in my drawer ? 
I am afraid I shall have to trouble you to get me up one for 
Friday. Such a shame as it is to set you to get up fine 
linen when you have so many other things to do.” 

“ O David, as if anything for you could be a trouble to 
me ! What am I for, my dear husband, but to help you in 
every possible way ? and it is so little— ^o very little that I 
can do.” 

Selina glanced affectionately in his face as she spoke and 
one of her rare flashes of prettiness passed over her features. 


PARSON JONES. 


57 


A sudden tenderness took possession of the parson, and 
stooping down he kissed his wife as he had seldom kissed 
her in their married life before. Lina flushed like a girl 
when her lover gives her his first embrace. A new life 
seemed to open before her. She trembled as she went down 
the garden path leaning on her husband’s arm. 

“ You are everything — the whole world to me,” whispered 
the parson to her, and they walked together in the summer 
gloaming, very happy and contented, and fully believing 
they had gained all that this earth had it in her power to 
give them. 


V. 

Although he had now been ordained for quite ten years, 
and been in the habit of visiting among his people all the 
time. Parson Jones felt as diffident as a sucking curate as he 
walked up the drive of Heddlewick Manor on Friday even- 
ing. His dress, though poor, was irreproachable. Selina 
had washed and starched the white neckcloth till it looked 
like driven snow, and carefully brushed his best black 
clothes. He was a gentleman too, for all his simple ways 
and manners, and knew how to behave himself in society, 
so that his diffidence was not due to any apprehension that 
he should meet persons above himself in birth or education. 
But though Parson Jones tried hard to do his duty in that 
state into which it had pleased his mother to call him, he 
disliked nothing so much as appearing in private in his pro- 
fessional character. He disliked being called upon to say 
grace before meat, when he was perfectly aware that his 
hosts never dreamt of saying it for themselves. He disliked 
to think that his presence had the effect of stopping many 
an innocent little quip or crank, that would have enlivened 
the table had he not been there. And above all he disliked 


58 


PARSON JONES. 


the thought that (though against his own volition) he was 
made to appear much better than he felt — that he mas- 
queraded against his will in the character of someone far 
holier than himself — and that he regretted that it was con- 
sidered necessary, in compliment to his cloth, to make 
a dinner party less lively and agreeable than it would 
otherwise have been. Parson Jones saw no harm in mirth 
and jollity. No man enjoyed it more. He would not have 
cared for the thought of heaven if he had imagined there 
was to be no fun nor laughing there. Damp clouds and 
nightshirts, with palms, and harps, and golden crowns had 
never held any attractions in his eyes, but he had kept his 
opinions to himself for fear of wounding the loving old 
mother who held to their belief so faithfully. Yet, with his 
honest and upright nature, he always felt a bit of a hypo- 
crite when he found the subjects of conversation “ boiled 
down,” as it were, in deference to his profession, and longed 
to say outright that he loved a joke as well as anybody. 
But there were the conventionalities to consider — the bread 
of Lina and his babies to think of — and so Parson Jones 
concealed his real feelings and preserved as grave a face as 
was possible to him. But he did not like doing it all the 
same. As the door of Heddlewick was opened and he was 
about to follow the manservant into the drawing room, Mrs. 
Jefferson rushed out into the hall to meet him, and drew him 
quickly into a side room. She was too elaborately dressed 
for a family party such as she had led him to expect, and the 
parson thought she looked more unpleasant and older than 
usual, with her skinny shoulders protruding from the low 
boddice of a black net dress, and her thin throat encircled 
by a diamond necklace. 

Oh, Mr. Jones ! ” she exclaimed with clasped hands, “ I 
am so ashamed and annoyed, I can hardly look you in the 
face,” 


PARSON JONES, ^0 

Why, what can have happened to make you feel like 
that ? " said the parson, who was always prepared for some 
extravagance on her part. 

“ The very thing of all others that I would have given 
the world to prevent. You knowhow I was looking forward 
to this evening. What great things I was hoping for, from 
the little social gathering I promised myself. But I am 
afraid all my plans are knocked on the head. One of Cap- 
tain Jefferson’s friends called to-day, and he insisted upon 
asking him to stay to dinner.” 

“Well, he could hardly have done otherwise, surely. 
Hospitality is a great virtue. Have you forgotten the old 
saying, ‘ the more, the merrier ’ ? ” 

“ Oh, but you don’t know what a dreadful man this friend 
of his is ! It is an insult to ask you — a minister of the 
Church of England — to sit down to the same table with him. 
He is an unbeliever, Mr. Jones — an atheist — a blasphemer, 
a scoffer, a a ” 

“Oh, stop, Mrs. Jefferson, pray, and don’t call the poor man 
any more names. You have given him quite enough to go 
through the world with. Besides, you mustn’t think that 
any sort of man will spoil my dinner, for I am as hungry as 
possible. And how do you know that you and I between 
us may not convince him of his errors before the evening is 
over. But no arguments at the dinner table, pray ! That will 
spoil all our digestions.” 

Mrs. Jefferson did not quite know how to take the par- 
son’s pleasantry. He did not look shocked enough to please 
her. But she would not let him see that. 

“ It shows the goodness of your heart that you should 
speak so charitably of the wretched creature, Mr. Jones,” 
she said. “Anyone but the captain would have been afraid 
to bring such a person into the bosom of his family. But 
what would my husband care if we were all atheists to- 


6o PARDON- fOATPS. 

morrow ? It would make no difference to a man of his 
opinions.” 

“ Perhaps Captain Jefferson has too much faith in your 
stability to suppose it possible that anyone’s opinions could 
turn you from your own.” 

“ There he is right, but the insult to both of us is jnst the 
same, and I am so afraid his presence may interfere with the 
little plan I have made, to get you a private conversation 
with Miss Shaw. She is so perverse, you know, that she will 
seize any excuse to evade our good intentions on her 
behalf.” 

“ Oh, pray don’t trouble about that, Mrs. Jefferson,” ex- 
claimed the parson, “ for I have had the pleasure of making 
the acquaintance of Miss Shaw already. I met her in the 
churchyard the very day I called at your house, and we had 
a long talk together. I found her a very interesting com- 
panion and am looking forward to see her again to-night.” 

“ You met her in the churchyard, and she never mentioned 
the circumstance to me — her own uncle’s wife ? ” cried his 
hostess, while an angry color mounted into her cheeks. 
“There, Mr. Jones ! I told you how horridly deceitful she 
is, and now you have the proof of it. Why did she not tell 
me that you had met ? Why should she conceal so simple a 
matter ? ” 

“ IV/iy, indeed, my dear lady. It is too ridiculous a 
question to ask. There could have been no possible motive 
for concealment, therefore we may conclude it was a mere 
oversight. The incident evidently left no impression on the 
young lady’s mind.” 

“Ah ! you don’t know Miss Shaw as I do, Mr. Jones,” 
replied Mrs. Jefferson, “ or you would have found out that 
she never does anything without a motive. She is terribly 
sly. And this is the person Captain Jefferson expects me 
to live with. Ah ! my cross is a very, very heavy one.” 


PA/? SON JO/\tPS. 6 1 

‘‘ Come, come, you mustn’t make a mountam out of a 
molehill,” said the parson soothingly, “ and pray don’t make 
my innocent little rencontre with your young friend a sub- 
ject of discussion between you, or I shall begin to think that 
I did wrong in speaking to her.” 

“ You do wrong, dear Mr. Jones — you^ in your elevated 
position ? ” exclaimed the lady, with an upward glance that 
was intended to be very killing. 

“ Oh, the position has nothing to do with it,” replied 
Parson Jones, as he followed her to the drawing room. 

He found there, as she had led him to expect, a stranger, 
standing beside her husband, whom Captain Jefferson intro- 
duced to his notice as Mr. Ernest Solun, a gentleman from 
over the Atlantic. 

“ One of the kindest and best friends I made out there, 
Jones,” said the captain heartily, as he clapped Mr. Solun 
on the shoulder ; “ indeed, I should rather say, the very best, 
for he showed hospitality at a time when it was very incon- 
venient to himself and his family.” 

“ Nay, nay,” interrupted the stranger, “ there should be 
no time when hospitality is inconvenient, and I can honestly 
say that mine, such as it was, was never more willingly 
offered. The goodness was rather on your side, my friend, 
who accepted it with such a grace and have remembered it 
so long.” 

Mr. Solun was rather a singular looking man, but he 
interested Parson Jones from the first moment of their 
meeting. He was attired in a very unusual fashion for a 
dinner party, wearing only a pair of trousers and a red 
flannel shirt, over which was flung a light alpaca coat. He 
had no collar on, but a large crimson handkerchief was tied 
loosely round his throat. Everything he wore was scrupu- 
lously clean, but poor in the extreme. His features were 
handsome and refined, and his eyes beamed with kindliness 


62 pAkSON- JOMEk 

and intelligence. He did not appear to be in the least 
ashamed of his coarse attire, though his hostess, with the 
spirit of true ill-breeding, drew her dress away from his 
clothes each time she approached him. Ernest Solun did not 
seem to notice her action, but continued to talk with the 
captain on all sorts of topics till dinner was announced. It 
appeared that he had but just returned from the Holy Land, 
a country in which David Jones had always felt the keenest 
interest, but when the door opened to admit Miss Shaw, he 
turned at once to greet her. She came forward languidly^ 
looking just a little more weary and indifferent than she had 
done at their first meeting. Her crape-covered dress, which 
was worn high to her white throat, made her look ghastly 
pale — even her uncle exclaimed at her appearance as she 
advanced to the middle of the room : 

“ Why, Verena,” he said, “ my dear child, are you ill ? ” 

“ Oh, no, uncle, just the same as usual,” she replied, as she 
turned and shook hands with Parson Jones. “ How do you 
do, Mr. Jones?” she continued, “you see I did not take 
cold after all.” 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” he returned, “ but you will 
not be so imprudent again, I hope. You will come to my 
garden next time you want to sit in the evening air, and 
take possession of one of my wife’s wicker chairs, and we 
will promise to leave you alone in your glory as long as you 
like.” 

“ And perhaps the next time you make the acquaintance 
of a strange gentleman, Verena,” interposed the hard voice 
of Mrs. Jefferson, “you will be good enough to inform me 
of the circumstance. It is the custom for young ladies in 
England. It is lucky it was Mr. Jones. You might make 
most dangerous acquaintances in that way.” 

“ It was because I knew him to be Mr. Jones, that I spoke 
to him,” said the girl indifferently, “ and I have been quite 


PARSON JONES. 63 

long enough in England, considering I was born there, to 
know its customs.” 

Then I hope you will observe them for the future,” 
replied the elder lady acidly. 

“ Come, my dear Harriet, there’s been no harm done, and 
would not have been if the child had spoken to every man 
in Llanty-gollen. And I’m quite sure Verena would never 
do anything that was unbecoming. She has been brought 
up far too carefully by my dear sister for that.” 

I am afraid the blame of the introduction must all lie 
on my shoulders,” interposed the parson, “ for I was the 
one to speak first to Miss Shaw. I thought, as Mrs. Jeffer- 
son had kindly said that she would introduce me to her, 
and also that she had become one of my parishioners, that 
I might take the liberty of addressing her. And I thought 
it very kind of Miss Shaw not to resent it as a liberty.” 

“ As if you could take a liberty with a. girl of that age, 
Mr. Jones,” replied his hostess, reproachfully. “ Oh, no ; 
I exonerate you from aught but the greatest kindness. It 
was the concealment of your meeting on Miss Shaw’s part 
that worried me.” 

“ Then please don’t let it worry you any more,” said her 
husband, in a tone of annoyance, “ for there’s been quite 
enough said about it already. And after all, Verena is my 
niece and not yours, and I will be answerable for her con- 
duct. I promised her dying mother, who was my only 
sister, that her child should have a home with me, and a 
home means a place where you can have your liberty. And 
so, my girl, you are to do just what you like in all things, and 
if you ever get into a scrape, come to Uncle Hal and he’ll 
get you out of it again.” 

David Jones expected to see Miss Shaw’s eyes beam 
upon her uncle at these words, and to hear her lips express 
some gratitude or affection ; but he was disappointed. 


64 


PARSON JONES. 


The girl smiled faintly and said “ Thank you, uncle,” in a low 
voice, but that was the only sign of appreciation which she 
gave ; and, at that moment, the dinner being announced, they 
all paired off to the dining room with a sensation of decided 
relief. Here, notwithstanding that his appetite had been 
somewhat checked by the unpleasant scene in the drawing 
room, the parson did justice to the good things set before 
him, but still had leisure to observe his neighbors. He saw 
that Ernest Solun ate in great moderation, and drank noth- 
ing but water — that Verena Shaw ate nothing at all — and 
that Captain Jefferson’s annoyance had the bad effect of 
making him drink decidedly too much. Mrs. Jefferson, of 
all there, did best with her knife and fork. She went on 
deliberately helping herself to every dish that was presented 
to her, and did not evince the slightest concern for the un- 
pleasantness she had caused. But David Jones was almost 
too much occupied with the American stranger, and the 
stories he was relating of his adventures in the Holy Land, 
to have time to spare for anyone else. Mrs. Jefferson had 
said he was an atheist and unbeliever, but the parson felt 
she must have made a mistake, or that Ernest Solun was 
playing on their credulity. How could a man who denied 
a God, or a Saviour, speak so reverently of the places he had 
visited during his journeyings, or the people with whom he 
had spoken on such subjects. His mild, yet speaking eye, 
lighted up with such unmistakable fervor as he mentioned 
the tomb of Christ — the Mount of Olives — and the ruins of 
Bethany, that David Jones became suddenly desirous, above 
all other things, to make this man’s acquaintance, and speak 
to him privately of all he had heard and seen. Yet, when 
they joined the ladies in the drawing room, he felt irre- 
sistibly drawn toward that corner of it where Verena Shaw 
had ensconced herself with a book. She looked so lonely 
in her pride, and as if she and Mrs. Jefferson had not 


PARSON JONES. 65 

exchanged a word since they had been thrown upon each 
other’s company. 

“ I felt so annoyed that your aunt should speak of our 
meeting as she did before dinner,” he commenced ; “ I had 
explained the whole matter to her, when we first met.” 

Miss Shaw glanced up at him, and slightly elevated her 
eyebrows. 

“ It is not of the least consequence,” she replied indiffer- 
ently, “ she is always like that. If it had not been one 
thing it would have been another. Some people are never 
happy, you know, unless they are finding fault.” 

” But it must make you so uncomfortable, I am afraid. 
Miss Shaw. I felt quite sorry, for the first time, that we 
had met.” 

Don’t say that, because I have been thinking that it is 
the first pleasant thing that has happened to me since I 
came to Llanty-gollen.” The parson smiled. The news 
was welcome to him. 

“ That is very kind of you to say. Though I am afraid it 
proves what I have thought — that you are grieving more 
than is good for you, over the loss of your old home.” 

Oh, no ! ” said the girl, “ I would not go back to it for 
all the world. The remembrances are too unpleasant. 
Honestly, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me where 
I live. I don’t think I am at all dependent on my outward 
surroundings.” 

“But I hope you are a little dependent on your friends. 
Miss Shaw, and that you will let me count myself among the 
number.” 

“ The number ! ” she repeated sarcastically. “ I fancy you 
will find yourself a unit, Mr. Jones. Still, if it pleases you 
to consider yourself so ” 

“ It will please me very much,” he responded eagerly, 
“ and it will please my wife and mother into the bargain. I 


66 


PARSON JONES. 


was talking to them of you last night, and they both said 
how charmed they would be if you would visit at the par- 
sonage.” 

“ Ah ! they don’t know me yet,” she said significantly, 
“ or perhaps they would not feel so cordial. But I will go 
to see them ; I should like to go.” 

“And I am delighted to hear you say so ! ” Parson Jones 
responded eagerly. The rest of the evening was passed in 
general conversation ; but, as it drew to a close, Mrs. Jef- 
ferson managed to get a few words with David Jones in 
private. 

“ I am quite disappointed,” she said ; “ I see that you 
have not had a single opportunity of speaking to that poor 
misguided girl in private. I had so hoped you might have 
been able to sound her state of mind. There is something 
very much out of the common in it ; I feel convinced of 
that. She walks about the house as if she had committed a 
murder.” 

“ Well, I could hardly have put such an important ques- 
tion to her at a dinner party,” replied the parson, laughing. 
“But don’t look so downcast, Mrs. Jefferson. There is 
hope yet that I may get at the bottom of the mystery. Miss 
Shaw has been good enough to promise that she will pay us 
a visit at the parsonage.” 

“Good enough, indeed!” echoed his hearer. “She 
should only be too thankful to be admitted to such a place 
and to such company. I only hope that you and Mrs. 
Jones may not repent your goodness to her.” 

“Are you going to walk home, Mr. Jones?” interrupted 
the singularly sweet voice of Ernest Solun, “ for if so, I will 
walk a little way with you.” 

“ I shall be delighted,” replied the parson. “ Are you 
staying in the village ? ” 

“ No, and yes ! My good friend here, whom I only 


PARSON JONES. 


67 


intended to call upon, insists upon my sleeping for to-night 
at Heddlewick ; but I am a great walker, and shall not be 
able to sleep unless I have a stroll beforehand.” 

“ I wish I could persuade you to stay here for a month, 
old fellow!” exclaimed Captain Jefferson. After the 
twaddle one is condemned to listen to in Llanty-gollen, it is 
perfectly refreshing to hear a man talk as you do.” 

“You forget what a bad compliment you are paying to 
Mr. Jones in saying so, Henry,” said his wife sternly. 

“ Oh, Jones understands what I mean ; I am sure of that,” 
replied the captain. 

“ Indeed, I do, Captain Jefferson. I don’t know when I 
have enjoyed an evening more than in listening to Mr. 
Solun’s anecdotes of Jerusalem and the Holy Land.” 

“1 am hurt and surprised to hear you encouraging a man 
like that,” whispered Mrs. Jefferson in his ear, but he had 
no opportunity of answering her. 

“ It gives me pleasure to hear you say so, sir,” said the 
stranger, with his sweet, soft smile, which his piercing eyes 
seemed sometimes to contradict, “and it will give me still 
greater to continue the subject as we walk together.” 

Then there was a general leave-taking, and as Parson 
Jones grasped the hand of Verena Shaw he managed to 
whisper, “You will come?” and she to answer, “I will.” 

“ How I envy you ! ” exclaimed the parson, as he and his 
companion strode down the drive together, “ for having been 
able to visit the places you spoke of. It has been the dream 
of my life to do so, but I have been tied by the leg to one 
place. I have thought what an inducement it would be to 
prove more earnest in preaching the truth if one could say, 
‘ I do not speak to you of what I know nothing. I myself 
have seen these sacred spots — this hand has touched the 
very sepulcher where the Saviour’s body was laid, but which 
it had no power to retain — my eyes have rested on Mount 


68 


PARSON JONES. 


Calvary — my feet have toiled up the Mount of Olives.’ 
How much more graphically one could describe it all ! 
With what fervor one would speak ! ” 

Ernest Solun turned and looked at the parson critically. 

“You are an enthusiast, Mr. Jones,” he said. 

The other blushed and stammered. 

“Oh, no, indeed. I am only a very unlearned and plain 
spoken man — one who feels himself to be utterly unworthy 
to proclaim the grand truths of which he knows nothing, 
except by hearsay.” 

“ It is a pity you are in the Church,” said Solun bluntly. 

“I might respond, it is a pity you are not, or rather, if 
what I have heard is correct, that you do not more value the 
privilege of belonging to her communion, Mr. Solun.” 

“ And what have you heard of me ? ” demanded his com- 
panion. 

“Oh, pardon me ! I should not have alluded to the sub- 
ject if you had not introduced it. I heard — whether true 
or not I cannot say — that you do not believe in anything, 
but I hope sincerely that my informant is wrong.” 

“I can guess the name of the person who told you that, 
sir. It is a lady who will not believe that anyone can be 
sincere who does not think exactly the same as she does. 
But the laws of hospitality do not permit me to define her 
personality more particularly.” 

“It is enough,” replied the parson, “and I am very glad 
to know that it is a mistake, and that you do belong to the 
same Church as myself.” 

“ Hold hard, sir ! I did not say that. If you wish to 
know the truth, I belong to no church.” 

“You are not a Christian?” exclaimed Parson Jones, in 
a voice of pain. 

“ Indeed, I hope I am, above all things and before all 
things, a Christian.” 


PARSOM JONES, 6g 

“But how can you be, if you do not belong to the Church 
of Christ ?” demanded David Jones. 

“I do belong to his Church — the Church he founded by 
his Apostles, my dear sir. But I do not belong to the 
Church of England, if that is what you mean, and I would 
not for all the world, for nothing could be further in doc- 
trine or practice from the Church of Christ.” 

“What do you call yourself, then?” said Parson Jones; 
“ to what sect do you belong ?” 

“ To a little sect of which you have probably never heard, 
but which is well known in the United States — a sect which 
call themselves Literalists, because their aim is to take the 
words of Christ and to follow his example literally, and not 
to twist and turn them to their own ideas of what is right.” 

“But does not the Church of England do this, or try to 
do it ? ” said David Jones. “ It is the vow we take at our 
ordination, to uphold and keep the Faith once committed to 
the Saints.” 

“Yes, so I’ve heard; and so does Her Majesty, the 
Queen, when she is crowned Defender of the Faith. But 
the question is, not if you vow to do it, but if you keep your 
vow.” 

“You interest me very strangely, Mr. Solun, and I do not 
mind confessing to you that I have often had serious doubts, 
since my ordination, whether the preaching of the Church 
is not very different from her practice. I did not choose 
my own profession. I had no voice in the matter, but I 
am quite alive to the responsibilities of my position, and I 
am sincerely anxious to do my duty in it.” 

“ I can read that, sir, without your telling it me, from 
your face,” said Ernest Solun ; “ but still you have often 
been troubled by doubts and fears. Every honest man 
must be who has to preach the doctrine of Christ and bow 
down to that of the world.” 


70 


PARSON JONES. 


“Oh, I hope we are not quite so bad as that,” cried the 
parson lightly. 

“ Aren’t you ? Then what do you call preaching the 
humility of Christ and his Gospel and maintaining your 
bishops in their palaces ? ” 

“But St. Paul ” commenced the parson. 

“ I was not speaking of St. Paul, sir,” exclaimed Solun, 
excitedly. “ I am a Christian — a follower of Christ, not of 
St. Paul ! It strikes me that whenever a man can’t make 
his claim good, he always lays it on the back of Saint Paul 
as if he were a second Saviour. But I am a Christian, sir. 
I want no St. Pauls. Christ is enough for me, and I 
repeat that, whatever she may call herself, England is not 
a Christian country, either in the laws of her Church or her 
government, and I will prove it to you whenever you will 
give me the opportunity.” 

“ I will hear all you have to say upon the subject with 
pleasure,” replied Parson Jones. “But tell me some more 
about your own sect’. Have you any teachers — any rules — 
any places of worship?” 

“Yes, sir, we have all those without doubt. Our teacher 
is Christ, our rules are the words of Christ, and our place of 
worship is the same that his was ; and that is the first field, 
or grove, or hill where we can feel ourselves alone with 
him.” 

“Each one of you is a pope to yourself,” quoted the 
parson, though not unkindly. 

“ Not at all, sir ! We have but one pope, Christ ! We 
take the words he spoke when on earth literally, and we 
follow his precepts as far as we can. I daresay you were 
surprised to see me, a gentleman by birth, appearing at a 
dinner party in the rough habiliments I wear. But we all 
do the same. The Founder of our sect remained poor, 
though he might have commanded the riches of the world 


PARSON JONES. 


71 


and all the glory of it, and we are bound to do the same. 
In like manner we dare not keep more money than we need 
for our immediate wants. I work for my daily bread, and 
at the close of each day I reserve only enough for my bed 
and breakfast and give away the rest. When I am hospita- 
bly entertained, as on the present occasion, by my good 
friend Captain Jefferson, so much the better for my more 
needy brethren. Will you take charge of this trifle, sir,” 
said Ernest Solun, placing a few shillings in the parson’s 
palm, “ and give it to whoever may need it most among 
your parishioners ? ” 

“ You humble me,” replied Parson Jones, as he wrung 
the other’s hand, “ and your words seem to have wakened 
something in my heart that has slumbered there too long. 
Many Christians — so called — will give of their abundance 
to the poor, but very few know what self-sacrifice means.” 

“ Then they don’t know what Christ means,” rejoined 
Ernest Solun stoutly, “ or what love means for that matter. 
For what is love, sir, but self-abnegation ? Those people 
who live snug and comfortable from year to year, while 
thousands of their fellow-creatures die of starvation and 
disease, may reconcile it to their consciences, that they and 
theirs have no more than they actually need, but the tears, 
and the sighs, and the curses of the suffering wretches who 
have nothing, will be their condemnation before God. 
Christ didn’t say, Give of your overplus.’ He said, ‘ If a 
man ask for thy coat, give him thy cloak also.’ But the 
modern Christian will tell you that the demands of an 
altered society make it impossible to take the Saviour’s 
commandments literally in the nineteenth century.” 

“ Mr. Solun,” said the parson suddenly, “ will you come 
and see me ? I should esteem it a great privilege if you 
would.” 

“ Well, sir, I did not intend to remain here to-morrow, but 


72 


PARSON JONES. 


if you wish it, and my good friend, Captain Jefferson, will 
consent to be burdened with my company, I will stay to 
have another talk with you on this great subject.” 

“ Thank you, it will give me infinite pleasure,” said David 
Jones. They had reached the parsonage gate by this time, 
and as Mr. Solun refused to enter at so late an hour, the 
men shook hands and parted. But Parson Jones did not 
go straight into his house, though the faithful Lina was 
waiting to welcome him home. He walked several times 
up and down the drive, pondering over the words Ernest 
Solun had spoken to him. Love was self-abnegation. 
The love of Christ was sacrifice. There was no religion 
without self-denial. Then where, thought David Jones, was 
his ? People called him a good man, and according to the 
world’s valuation he supposed he might lay some claim to 
the title. He had never been proud of it. He had only 
thanked God, who had mercifully kept him out of the way 
of temptation. But now he began to wonder for the first 
time if it were a thing to be thankful for. It was true that, 
like the soldier who has never smelt powder, he had saved 
his skin, but at the same time he had never been given an 
opportunity of winning the Victoria Cross. He had passed 
the most responsible part of his life at Llanty-gollen, with 
positively no possibility of doing greater wrong than losing 
his temper, or being five minutes late for service, which was 
rather a failing of his. What temptation had he ever had to 
neglect his religion, to rob his neighbor, to be faithless to 
Selina, or to take another man’s life ? None ! None what- 
ever ! He was a soldier who had never had occasion to un- 
sheathe his sword, which likely enough had rusted in the 
scabbard for want of exercise. He had lived as sheltered a 
life as one of his own babies. From a little lad, brought up 
close to his parents’ side, as a youth guarded round by college 
rules, to say nothing of that sterner guardian of young man- 


PARSON JONES. 


73 


hood’s morals, a very scanty allowance, and then as a man, 
settled down in Llanty-gollen, with his church, and his wife, 
and his children, and his garden to fill up all his leisure, and 
again, the able guardian Poverty to prevent his ever leaving 
home, or being exposed to the danger of change of scene, or 
people, or opinions. It was absurd to call himself a soldier 
of the Cross when he had never had any fighting to do. 
David Jones saw it plainly now and for the first time. The 
stranger's conversation had stirred up something in his soul 
which had been slumbering there for years past — something 
which he recognized for the first time as conscience. Had 
he any heart in the morning and evening services which he 
dragged through each Sunday, and which he dared not con- 
fess (except to himself) wearied and worried him ? Was 
his soul absorbed in his sacred duty (as his dear old mother 
called it), or did he not love his garden and his children 
and wife the better of the two ? 

Had he ever been afforded the opportunity to choose be- 
tween the world and the Church? Had he not been thrust 
into his profession before he knew what was before him, or 
whether there was any preference between the two conditions 
— just as old Mrs. Jones had thrust him into matrimony with 
Selina Mostyn before he had found out if one woman was 
to be desired above another ? Parson Jones glanced around 
him fearfully as these heterodox thoughts came into his 
head, as if he dreaded lest his mother or his wife should 
have overheard what had only had birth in the recesses of his 
brain. He felt like a criminal as he came to himself, and 
sighed deeply as he descried in the moonlight, Selina, with a 
knitted shawl thrown over her head, coming out into the 
garden after him. 

“What is the matter? " he exclaimed hastily. “ Baby is 
not worse, is she ? " 

“ Oh, dear me, no ! whatever made you think of such a 


74 


PARSON JONES. 


thing ? She is all right ; only I couldn’t imagine why you 
were staying such a time in the garden. Do you know that 
it is past eleven? Why don’t you come indoors, David ? I 
have been sitting up in case you would like a cup of tea or 
a glass of beer before you went to bed.” 

The parson shook his head. 

“ No, my dear, no ; much obliged to you all the same. 
But the captain will never let me go without taking a glass 
of wine. He is one of the most hospitable men I know.” 

“ But why have you been walking about the drive then ? ” 

“ I have been thinking, my dear : I met one of the most 
interesting men possible at the Jeffersons’ to-night, a Mr. 
Solun, an American, who has just come from Palestine. His 
anecdotes are delightful. We walked for some way to- 
gether, and he has promised to call on me to-morrow and 
have another talk before he leaves Llanty-gollen. Happy 
man, I wish I could go with him ! ” 

“O David, what an extraordinary thing to say,” cried 
Lina, “ would you leave grandmamma, and me, and all the 
children then ? I never heard you speak like that before, 
and we have been married eleven years and two months.” 
And Mrs. David Jones began to weep. The sight roused 
all that there was of tenderness in her husband’s breast for 
her. 

“ My dearest wife,” he exclaimed, “why, what is this? You 
do not really imagine for a moment that I could seriously 
dream of leaving you and the little ones ? Why, how could I, 
you silly girl ? You know that I am tied to Llanty-gollen — 
that I have no curate and no money to pay for one, and so I 
couldn’t leave the place if I wished to. But I don’t wish 
to. My imagination was only a little inflamed by the vivid 
description this Mr. Solun gave of the scenes he had visited 
in the Holy Land. I can never hope to go there myself, 
Lina — I know that well. Don’t be afraid of losing me, old 


PARSON JONES. 75 

woman. You have got me fast enough to look after you 
and love you, to your life’s end.” 

“ But you would like to go,” persisted his wife. 

“ Not without you and the babies, and you know I might 
as well talk of taking you all to the moon. It was only a 
passing thought, my dear. You know what a desire I have 
always had to travel and see more of the world. But I shall 
never attempt to gratify it, at all events during my dear 
mother’s lifetime. So you see what a goose you are to fear 
such a thing for a single moment.” 

During your mother’s lifetime ?” queried Lina, ^‘then 
you would really like to go, David ?” 

“No ! no ! not for the world,” answered the parson, in 
order to quiet her fears, but he sighed again as he said so ; 
“ come, my dear, it is time we were both in bed. Come to 
the house with me.” 

And he drew her gently in. 


VI. 

There was quite an unusual excitement apparent in Par- 
son. Jones’ manner the next morning, as he looked out for 
the advent of his new friend. It is even placed on record 
that when Selina essayed to put the baby (whose face was 
besmeared with treacle up to her ears) into his arms for a 
walk in the garden, he asked if his mother would not be 
good enough to take her once in a way, and that he let dear 
little Hughie and Owen start for their violin lesson from 
the gentleman who murdered the harmonium on Sundays 
without kissing their rosy faces, and bidding them be good 
boys and learn a pretty tune to play to father in the even- 
ings. Neither Lina nor old Mrs. Jones could imagine what 
interested him so much in the stranger, for, as his wife said, 


76 


PARSON JONES. 


he had got a map of the Holy Land and heaps of books 
about it in his study, and she was sure nobody could tell 
him any more than he knew already. The fact is, Mrs. 
Selina felt a little jealous of the man who had occupied so 
much of her husband’s thoughts the night before, and was 
very glad that Mr. Solun was not likely to make a long stay 
in Llanty-gollen. However, David Jones did not permit 
anything to interfere with his expected pleasure. He dusted 
his study and bookcase with his own hands directly after 
breakfast, and scared Selina half out of her wits by asking 
if she had a dinner fit to ask Mr. Solun to sit down to, in 
case he did them the honor of staying to partake of it. 
Both the ladies felt curious to see the gentleman for whom 
such unusual preparations were considered necessary, and 
great was Selina’s astonishment when, on peeping at Mr. 
Solun from behind the parlor blind, as her husband met him 
on the threshold of the parsonage and drew him eagerly 
indoors, to behold an insignificant looking person, dressed 
in such shabby clothes that he might have been a laborer. 

“ Oh, grandmamma ! ” she exclaimed, “ can that really be 
the gentleman whom David has been making such a fuss 
about ? Why, he’s not better dressed than our Tom ! 
Surely it must be a stable helper sent to say that Mr. Solun 
cannot come ! ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, my dear,” responded the old 
lady, “ but I don’t think my son would have taken a stable 
helper into his study ; and I remember dear grandpapa used 
to say that geniuses never looked like anybody else. They 
do it on purpose, that people may ask who they are. But I 
trust our dear David won’t get mixed up with such gentry, 
for they're generally bad.” 

Oh, he told me this gentleman was a very pious man, 
but I don’t see how that can be, for he doesn’t belong to the 
Protestant Church.” 


PARSON JONES. 


77 


“ What ? ” exclaimed old Mrs. Jones in a voice of horror. 
In her narrow ideas a man who did not belong to the Prot- 
estant Church was everlastingly lost. “ Not a Protestant ? 
Oh, what can my son be thinking of to bring him into the 
very house ? Doubtless he has done it with the view of 
breaking his stubborn spirit, but it is most dangerous. 
Selina, my dear, go at once and send Ann out with Mollie 
and baby until this man has gone ; and when it is time for 
Hughie and Owen to return from their music lesson I will 
go to meet the poor lambs myself, and keep them in the 
fields till the coast is clear.” 

“ Lor, grandmamma ! what harm do you think he could 
do the children ? ” said Selina. “ And don’t you suppose 
that David would think of us the first of any — before any 
stranger whom he has only seen once in his life ? One 
would imagine that he preferred this Mr. Solun to us,” con- 
cluded the wife, ready to cry again at the remembrance of 
the night before. 

“ Oh, no, my dear, of course not ! ” replied Mary Jones ; 
“ only I could never trust anybody who was not a Protes- 
tant. Why ! he might be anything — a Papist or a Ritualist ! 
It’s terrible to think of. I shall not be satisfied till I hear 
what motive our dear David has in asking him here. And 
if he stays to dinner, Selina, I shall not sit down to table 
with him — I shall not, indeed ! and I think you will be 
very wrong if you let any of the dear children do so, 
either.” 

“ But, grandmamma, what should I say to David ? He 
might be vexed, and you know that I would not vex him for 
all the world.” 

“ No, my dear, you are right. You must on no account 
vex your husband. He is your lord and master — your head 
— he rules over you. But I shall retire to my own room, 
just to show that I do not choose to countenance a visitor 


78 


PARSON JONES. 


with unorthodox views, and dear David will not allow it to 
happen again, I am sure." 

While the ladies of the parsonage were amusing themselves 
after this fashion. Parson Jones had conducted the stranger 
into his study and installed him in the best seat there — a 
worn leather easy-chair, that had seen better days. 

“ I perceive, my friend," said Ernest Solun, in his 
pleasant voice, as he looked round the very unobtrusive 
little room, where the book-shelves, though laden with a fair 
assortment of volumes, were only made of rough deal by the 
parson’s own hands. “ I perceive that you are content with 
almost as modest surroundings as I am ! " 

“ I am obliged to put up with them, Mr Solun, but I wish 
I could say with truth that I am content. I fear I have not 
yet arrived at your degree of faithful following. But I am 
very poor. My stipend is only one hundred and twenty 
pounds a year, and I have a wife and four children to sup- 
port, so you see I have nothing left over for luxuries.” 

“ Exactly so ! although I should call the wife and chil- 
dren luxuries. They are certainly not necessary to a man’s 
salvation, though Protestant parsons seem to imagine so. 
But I doubt if they are not oftener hindrances, than helps, 
along the difficult road we have to travel." 

“ Then does your sect approve of the Romish doctrine of 
celibacy for the clergy, Mr. Solun ? ’’ demanded the parson. 

“ My sect, as you call it, Mr. Jones — the Literalists — 
condemns nothing that Christ did not condemn. He was 
present at a marriage, therefore he could not have con- 
sidered marriage wrong. But he did not marry himself, 
therefore he could not have considered it necessary. And 
even your favorite St. Paul did not recommend it, you may 
remember ? ’’ Parson Jones looked thoughtful. 

“ I know he did not ! ’’ he said. 

“ So I suppose the truth is," continued Mr. Solun, “ that 


PARSON JONES. 


79 


we may judge for ourselves. But I should think it must be 
a hard matter to judge aright. And a mistake must be fear- 
ful, a kind of hell upon earth.” 

“ I may conclude then, that you are not a married man,” 
said David Jones, smiling. 

“ I am not, sir, and I shall never be ! It was one of the 
worldly luxuries which I voluntarily resigned, when I be- 
came a Literalist. I wanted naturally to express my faith 
and devotion by doing something for God, who had done so 
much for me — to give him a little present as it were, and 
I looked around and couldn’t find anything else but that to 
lay upon his altar, so I just took it there, and whispered to 
him how much it was worth to me, and asked him to accept 
it at my hands. And he did so, sir, and he has made me 
happy ever since, and I have never regretted it, though I 
may have missed it. But what is the good of a gift that you 
don’t miss ? It doesn’t amount to much, does it, Mr. 
Jones ? ” 

“ We are taught so differently ” commenced David 

Jones. 

“ I know what you mean, sir — that the Protestant Church 
advises marriage for her parsons, if she does not command 
it. She teaches a man that it is incumbent on him as a Chris- 
tian to lead a pure life, and that marriage is the only safe- 
guard for him. But what then becomes of the merit of the 
purity ? The married priest makes no sacrifice for God ! 
He has just pandered to his nature. He makes no struggle 
to kill the carnal part of himself in order that the spiritual 
part may triumph. He rather encourages it. But don’t 
think lam condemniing the holy state, as it is called. When 
it is holy, it must be a very happy state, and there are 
doubtless some men who are the better, instead of the worse, 
for it. We must all judge for ourselves, or rather we must 
let our Master guide us. For myself, I believe it would 


8o 


PARSON JONES. 


have been a great hindrance. The love of a woman — the 
clinging arms of little children — would have kept my heart 
too much at home. Now I am free to go wherever I may 
be called.” 

“And did you feel a distinct call to go to Jerusalem V 
asked the parson. 

“ Oh, decidedly ! I never move unless I am told to go. 
I have been absent from my home now for nearly four 
years, and shall not return till I feel there is more impor- 
tant work for me on the other side of the Atlantic. ” 

“Your home ?” said his companion inquiringly. 

“Yes, where my parents and brothers and sisters dwell. 
They are all very dear to me, although they are not all of 
the same opinions as myself.” 

“You promised yesterday, Mr. Solun, to tell me why you 
separated from the Protestant Church, and in what particu- 
lar you do not consider she carries out her profession as the 
Church of Christ. I wish you would keep that promise now.” 

“ In what particular ? ” retorted Ernest Solun laughingly. 
“ I think I can show you that she carries out her profession 
in no one particular. But first you must tell me what you 
understand by the term, Christian.” 

“ Why, a follower of Christ, to be sure. What other 
meanifig could it have ? ” 

“True, and the word ‘follower’ means one who follows 
in every particular. The Jews and the Buddhists and the 
Mohammedans are all examples of this, I am only alluding 
to those who hold strictly to their religion, remember ; but 
then, England professes to be so very strict — to be the most 
pious country in the world. A religious Jew strictly follows 
and obeys the teaching of Moses; a Brahmin that ot 
Buddha ; a Mussulman that of Mohammed ; but England 
does not follow the laws and teachings of the Founder of her 
religion, Christ, either in her Government, or her Church,” 


PARSON JONES. 


8i 


“You are too hard upon us,” said David Jones, who was 
beginning to feel annoyed at the denunciatory comments of 
Ernest Solun. “ We may fail in carrying out the Divine 
laws by which we are all bound ; human nature is weak at 
the best, and often fails where it most desires to succeed ; 
but we have many good and pious men among us who try 
their hardest not to disgrace their profession, and I am 
bound to say that many of them are an honor and glory to it.” 

“ Softly, my dear friend,” interposed his visitor ; “ I am 
not speaking of individuals, but of the country herself. 
How the first simple rules given to the disciples have come to 
be so transformed that they have ceased to be Christ’s teach- 
ing it would be difficult to say, but someone must have been 
at fault. As I said to you yesterday, his teaching has been 
so twisted to suit men’s ideas of what is right and suitable 
to the age they live in, that it has lost its meaning for them, 
and they no longer recognize it as their guide. You have 
asked me to tell you truthfully why I no longer belong to 
the Church, so you must not fall out with me because I 
comply with your request.” 

“ No, no ! do not be afraid of it, but explain yourself 
farther,” said Parson Jones. 

“Well, to begin with your government and the laws it 
has made. What about capital punishment? Is that 
Christian ? What did Christ say about it ? He mentioned 
it several times, but I am not going to recite the whole Bible 
to you, which, doubtless, you know better than myself. One 
example will suffice. Almost all his laws were summed up 
in the Sermon on the Mount. ‘ Ye have heard that it was said 
by them of old time. Thou shalt not kill. . . . But I say 
unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a 
cause shall be in danger of the judgment and again a little 
further on, ‘ Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for 
an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. But I say unto you, That ye 


82 


PARSON JONES. 


resist not evil.’ And what does he say of divorce in the 
same chapter? ‘ Whosoever shall put away his wife, saving 
for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adultery : 
and whosoever shall marry her that is divorced, committeth 
adultery.’ The Roman Catholics are much more consistent 
than your Church in this and many other particulars, and 
yet how the Protestants profess to be horrified at the 
Catholics. Now for the oath which a man is compelled to 
take in a court of law before it will believe his statement — 
that your members of Parliament all take before they are 
admitted to the House — ‘ Swear not at all : neither by heaven ; 
for it is God’s throne : nor by the earth ; for it is his foot- 
stool.’ How Christians can reconcile it to their conscience 
to disobey a plain command so grossly I cannot imagine. 
Then for lawsuits themselves, how strongly they are con- 
demned. ‘ If any man will sue thee at the law, and take 
away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.’ I fancy I hear 
the shrieks of ridicule with which the men of to-day would 
greet any endeavor to act up to this injunction ; but, why, 
if Buddha’s and Mohammed’s laws are still kept to the letter, 
should not Christ’s be also.” 

“ I have always thought that our laws were made for the 
times only. But you condemn the Church, Mr. Solun ; 
that is what hurts me so keenly.” 

^‘I am sorry to hurt you, Mr. Jones, for I like you and 
would be your friend. But how can I deny facts ? Your 
Church upholds the government that breaks Christ’s law and 
substitutes its own. It creates bishops, appointments that 
are useless in the church except for show — men who, con- 
trary to all Christ’s laws, swallow up a considerable quantity 
of the substance of the Church in order to keep up a mere- 
tricious dignity. What good are your bishops ? They gor- 
mandize an enormous revenue, while the poor, who are 
always with us, starve — they live in palaces whose professed 


PARSON- JONES. 


83 


Master had not a place to lay his head — and what do they 
do in return for it ? Preach an occasional sermon which 
most curates could do just as well, and live on the fat of 
the land, while many of Christ’s children have not bread to 
eat. Away with your bishops and archbishops, Mr. Jones, 
before you talk of serving a Christian Church.” 

“You make me feel very uncomfortable,” said Parson 
Jones. 

“That’s just what I want to do,” replied Solun, smiling, 
“and what did Christ say about the bishops : ‘And call no 
man your father upon earth, for one is your Father, which 
is in heaven. Neither be ye called masters, for one is your 
Master, even Christ. But he that is greatest among you 
shall be your servant.’ And again you must remember that 
text in Matthew xx.: ‘Whosoever will be great among 
you, let him be your minister ; and whosoever will be chief 
among you, let him be your servant.’ Ha, ha ! ” continued 
Mr. Solun, “I fancy I see some of your fat, be-gaitered 
and be-shovel-hatted old bishops being asked to wash the 
feet of the poor as their blessed Master did. But I will 
not say their Master, for no man who really believed in Christ 
as his Master would ever accept a position which was utterly 
in opposition to all his precepts.” 

Go on,” groaned David Jones. 

“I need not speak about your Commination service,” con- 
tinued Ernest Solun, “for it must commend itself to the 
dullest intellect as a most wicked thing ; and in the same 
category comes the marriage of divorced people, performed 
with all the rites and benedictions of the Church whose 
Founder unhesitatingly forbade it. But what about your 
stipends, which vary from the fifteen or twenty thousand of 
the bishops and archbishops to the thousand, five hundred, 
or less of the vicars, rectors, and curates of the profession. 
‘ Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses ; 


S4 


PARSON JONES. 


nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, 
nor yet staves (for the workman is worthy of his meat)/ 
After that, are you surprised to hear parsons complaining 
that they cannot make ends meet ? Why should they expect 
to do so when they have taken the matter out of their Mas- 
ter’s hands ? They evidently know better than he did, so 
they can hardly expect him to take any trouble about it, 
now, can they ! ” 

“ No,” answered Parson Jones feebly. 

"‘And now, my dear friend,” continued Ernest Solun, 
“you know the reason why I do not belong to the Protestant 
Church — because her preaching is so utterly at variance 
with her practice that I cannot consider her either a safe or 
a truthful guide. I would far rather be a Catholic than a 
Protestant, and a Jew than either. Compare the manner 
in which a Jew, even a careless one, keeps his Sabbath with 
your Sundays. He finds no difficulty in keeping Moses’ 
command, that from sunset to sunset there shall be no eat- 
ing, or drinking, or manual labor performed. Your clergy- 
men read out the Ten Commandments from the pulpit every 
week, and go home to break the fourth one, in which they 
exhort their congregation to keep holy the seventh day. 
‘ In it thou shalt not do any work ; thou . . . thy 

manservant, nor thy maidservant.’ After which the parson 
dines on cold roast beef and considers he has done his duty, 
although the unfortunate maid has had to stay at home to 
cook the potatoes, and might just as well have roasted the 
beef at the same time.” 

“ But I might ask you in my turn, Mr. Solun, if Christ 
himself did not rebuke the Pharisees for finding fault with 
him for plucking the corn on the Sabbath day, and tell 
them that the Sabbath was made for man and not man for 
the Sabbath ? ” 

“ Certainly he did, but he was plucking the ears of corn for 


PARSON JONES. 




himself and not making another work for him. I am not a 
Sabbatarian by any means, Mr. Jones. I would rather at 
any time spend my Sabbath in the fields than in a church. 
In the companionship of nature God can make himself 
heard, but it is not often one hears his voice in a temple 
made with hands. The world and the Church are too much 
mixed up with each other to please me, even if one of your 
Right Reverend Fathers in God preaches the sermon before 
he drives away in a carriage drawn by two horses to eat the 
repast his servants have stayed at home to prepare for him.” 

“Mr. Solun,” exclaimed David Jones, “if you have not 
convinced me that my Church is utterly wrong, you have at 
least created a great admiration in my breast for the course 
of action you have adopted for your own guidance.” 

“ You see, my dear friend, that when it was once borne 
in upon me, I could not do anything else. There was no 
other course to be pursued with a clear conscience.” 

“Were you originally intended for the ministry?” said 
David Jones. 

“ Oh, dear, no ! I was brought up in a book store. You 
have heard perhaps that we all follow trades in the States. 
But I never took to trade kindly. I was too much of a 
student.” 

“And what do you call yourself now — a missionary ? ” 

“ Well ! yes, I suppose I am something of the kind, 
though I call myself nothing but a servant of Christ. That 
I hope I am — that I do try to be — but he who is above all 
must judge me as he will. But surely you have led me on 
to talk enough about myself. Let us speak of something 
pleasanter. Have you observed that young lady who is 
staying at Heddlewick — Miss Shaw?” 

“ I have,” replied the parson, with a faint tinge of color 
in his cheek. 

“I pity that poor girl excessively,” continued Ernest 


86 


PARSON JONES. 


Solun, “she has come, I understand, from a bright and 
happy home, and she and Mrs. Jefferson certainly do not 
get on well together. I have watched her closely during 
the short time I have been there, and I have never seen her 
smile. She appears to me to have some heavy load upon 
her mind.'’ 

“ She has lately lost her mother,” observed Parson Jones. 

“ I am aware of that, but her uncle tells me there is some- 
thing more than her bereavement troubling her. He ap- 
pears to be quite anxious about her. And his wife’s con- 
duct is quite unpardonable, in my opinion. She seems to 
hate the poor child. What can she have done to incur her 
malice to such an extent ? ” 

“ Come to Heddlewick to share Mrs. Jefferson’s good 
things, I imagine,” said Mr. Jones, “she has already tried to 
set me against her niece. Miss Shaw certainly looks very 
sad. Perhaps the state of her own mind troubles her ! ” 

“Just what I was about to suggest,” interposed Ernest 
Solun eagerly, “ and it must be your part to console her, and 
show her the only true happiness, Mr. Jones.” 

“ What ! when you have just shown me that I don’t know 
it myself,” replied the other sadly. “But I had hoped to 
do some good in that way. I have already persuaded Miss 
Shaw to come to the parsonage and make the acquaintance 
of my wife, who is one of the best women on God’s earth. 
And when she is more at home with us I may be able to 
gain her confidence and persuade her to open her heart to 
me. But I wonder you do not try your own powers of per- 
suasion, Mr. Solun.” 

“ Ah, there is where you married men have the advantage 
of us, my dear friend,” said Ernest Solun, with a merry 
twinkle in his eye, “ and that is one of the drawbacks to a 
voluntary celibacy. I told you it was not all cakes and ale. 
I am often debarred from doing as much as I should like 


PARSON JONES. 


87 


toward making friends with young women, by a ghastly fear 
that by indulging in intimacy I may make myself very un- 
happy. Now tell me, is that prudence or selfishness ? I 
can't quite make out. But if I burned my fingers (and I am 
not invulnerable, remember), I am afraid it would invalid 
me for some time from working, as I should, in the Lord’s 
service. you need have no such fear.” 

‘‘ Of course not,” replied Parson Jones. 

“ And your wife will doubtless help you to get at the true 
state of the poor girl’s mind. A woman can be of such infinite 
use in these cases. I should like to see Miss Shaw smile 
and laugh as is natural at her age. She is a handsome 
young woman, with a very intellectual brow. Don’t you 
think so ? ” 

“ I have not observed her personal appearance much,” 
said the parson, “ but she told me something which, to my 
mind, is quite sufficient to account for her melancholy. She 
has been imbued by her mother with the doctrine of an- 
nihilation — the most terrible doctrine that can be possibly 
presented to a young mind. It robs life of every incentive 
to do good, and leaves no hope for the future. It shocked 
me greatly to hear her say so, and I intend to direct all my 
energies to uprooting the conviction.” 

“ By all means, do so, my dear friend,” cried Solun ex- 
citedly. “It will be a great and glorious task to disperse 
the cobwebs that obscure her mental vision. I envy you the 
opportunity. It seems thrown directly in your hands, as if she 
had been brought here expressly for the purpose. Captain 
Jefferson will be as grateful to you as the girl herself, for he 
is quite distressed that she looks so unhappy. By the way, 
Mr. Jones, have you ever tried to make any impression on 
his mind ? He is an excellent fellow, only sadly weighted 
by his wife’s uncongeniality. If she would only let him be 
in peace ; but she is always rubbing him the wrong way. I 


S8 


PARSON JONES. 


have never felt so grateful that I decided against matrimony^ 
as since I have known her, poor woman ; and she will insist 
that I am an atheist. That is the funny part of it.” 

“Yes, that was the first thing she told me about you, so 
you may suppose how astonished I was to discover your real 
sentiments. By the way, you said something just now 
about making an impression on the captain. Don’t you 
think the time would not be unworthily spent on his 
wife ? ” 

“ On the contrary, my dear fellow, I consider it would be 
utterly wasted. You could make no more impression on 
Mrs. Jefferson in her present state of mind than on a rock. 
She is too infinitely well pleased with herself. She does 
not think it possible she could do wrong. She believes she 
is the one piece of leaven that leavens the whole lump of 
Llanty-gollen. I never met such a conceited, self-satisfied 
woman in my life before.” 

They both laughed heartily at the description and Ernest 
Solun rose to go. 

“ I cannot thank you sufficiently for coming to see me,” 
said Parson Jones, as he wrung the other’s hand. “Your 
talk has been a revelation to me, though I cannot say it has 
left me entirely happy. If I were but free, how gladly I 
would leave everything to wander the world with you.” 

“ He who hath loved father or mother better than me, is 
not worthy of me,” commenced Ernest Solun solemnly, but 
David Jones stopped him. 

“ No ! no ! don’t say that ! ” he exclaimed in a voice of 
pain, “ for I can never believe that he intended us to desert 
ties once made, even for his service. What would my wife 
and little children do without me ? And my old mother ! 
Why, it would break her heart if I were to leave her. We 
have never been separated, except for the few years I was 
at college, since I was born.” 


PARSON JONES. 


89 


‘*Yes, yes, perhaps in your case it is different,” replied his 
friend. “ You see that the evil all lies in a nutshell. The 
Protestant clergy enter the Church as a rule fora living, just 
as they would enter the army or navy if it fell in their way 
to do so. But you can’t make a parson, Mr. Jones, any 
more than you can make an author or an actor. It must be 
born in him if he is to do any *good. You can make a 
grocer, or a butcher, and many men go into the Church with 
no more soul for their profession than the grocer has, with 
no better idea of it than he has — i.e.y to make money out of 
it. That is why you hear such dreadful twaddle occasion- 
ally from the pulpit, such cut and dried arguments and 
rambling discourses, that a sharp schoolboy could write and 
deliver better. It would not be so if the address came from 
the heart — from the man's own experience. Almost every- 
body waxes eloquent when his feelings are stirred. The 
love of a mortal woman will unloose a man’s tongue if he 
has never spoken before, but he hesitates, and stammers, 
and gets himself altogether mixed if he attempts to set the 
love of God before his hearers. This is too often the case 
in the Church, is it not ? ” 

“ Except that you have, fortunately for yourself, never 
heard me preach,” said Parson Jones ruefully, “ I should 
have been sure you were talking at me, Mr. Solun. I am 
the greatest blunderer in the pulpit you ever knew.” 

Ernest Solun looked infinitely distressed. 

“ I was not thinking of you,” he replied decidedly. “I 
beg — I pray of you, my dear friend, to absolve me from such 
a mean intention. From the little I have seen and heard of 
and from you, I am disposed to honor you highly, and 
think myself honored by being enrolled among the number 
of your friends. And if ever you want my assistance or 
advice in any way, and will write to this address, the letter 
will be duly forwarded to me wherever I may be.” 


90 


PARSON JONES. 


He took a letter case from his pocket as he spoke, and 
extracting a card, placed it in the parson’s hand. 

“ And now I am afraid I must take my leave of you, 
though I hope that at some future day we may meet again. 
No, it is very good of you to wish me to share your family 
meal, but I promised the captain to take my dinner at his 
luncheon. This afternoon I make my first start toward 
returning to Palestine by walking to Newport.” 

“ Shall you walk all the way to Liverpool,” asked David 
Jones with astonishment. 

“ Probably so. I generally do the greater part of my 
wanderings on foot. I am very fond of exercise, and it 
gives me many opportunities of speaking of my Master that 
I should otherwise never have.” 

“ Let me walk to the gate with you,” said his companion, ’ 
and together they proceeded down the drive. As they 
reached the gate they perceived a female figure hovering 
about the public road and peering every now and then into 
the parson’s domains. 

“ Who on earth can that be ? ” he said sotto voce to Ernest 
Solun. “ I have never seen her before. What an extraor- 
dinary little figure ! ” 

The appearance of the stranger justified his assertion. 
She was a diminutive little woman of very uncertain age. 
A lady without a manner of doubt, but not of a very pre- 
possessing type. Her face was gray and withered, and her 
grizzled hair was dressed in two old-fashioned loops on 
either side of it. Her eyes were small, but piercing in the 
extreme, and very deep-set under well-marked eyebrows. 
Her mouth was the most unpleasant feature in her face, 
being thin-lipped, and so hard as almost to deserve the 
definition of “ grim.” She was dressed very plainly, and 
almost poorly, but still she looked every inch a gentle- 
woman. As she caught sight of the two men, she half 


PARSON JONES. 


91 


drew to one side; but the parson asked her, with much 
courtesy, what she wanted, and if he could be of any 
service to her. 

“I presume I am speaking to Mr. Jones,” said the little 
lady, with an old-fashioned manner, “ and if so, I shall be 
glad of the opportunity. Indeed, I was just trying to make 
up my mind to go up to the parsonage, only I feared to 
intrude on your dinner hour.” 

‘‘ My dinner can wait for a few minutes, if you have any 
business with me, madam,” he replied. 

“You are very good, but I must not detain you long on 
this occasion. First, I must introduce myself to you. My 
name is Miss Abbott, and I am the secretary for the Society 
of Woman Workers, and am traveling the country for the 
purpose of beating up recruits for this admirable institu- 
tion. I am sure, sir, that if, when you are more at leisure, 
you can spare me a few minutes in which to explain to 
you the motives of our society, you will be the first 
to aid me by recommending it to the members of your 
flock.” 

“I cannot promise you that. Miss Abbott,” returned 
Parson Jones, “until I know the direction your woman’s 
work takes. I am not much in favor of women working at 
all myself, except in their kitchens and nurseries.” 

“ I am sure you will not hold to that opinion, sir, when I 
show you how much good our female missionaries are doing in 
all parts of the globe. And I shall hope to have your 
co-operation by giving me introductions to some of your 
leading ladies about here. But, of course, I cannot expect 
you to do that until you have carefully examined the papers 
and credentials I bring with me. When may I hope to find 
you at leisure ? ” 

Parson Jones hesitated for a moment. He did not like 
the manner nor appearance of the stranger, nor did he care 


92 PARSON JONES. 

for the society missionaries who occasionally came under 
his cognizance. 

“ I will be willing to hear what you have to say on the 
subject when I am at liberty, Miss Abbott, which is not just 
now,” he answered slowly, “ but I cannot hold out any hopes 
of giving you introductions to my parishioners. There are 
very few ladies of influence in Llanty-gollen, and such as 
there are, are all married and quiet, unable, I feel convinced, 
to do more than attend to their domestic duties.” 

“ When may I call upon you ?” demanded Miss Abbott 
insinuatingly, and he was just about to reply that he would 
see her that evening, when a shrill voice was heard from the 
lane which ran outside the parsonage. Parson Jones actually 
changed color at the sound of it, and Ernest Solun made 
immediate preparations for flight. 

It is Mrs. Jefferson,” he said, with comical dismay, as he 
peeped round the hedge ; “ I hope to goodness she is not com- 
ing in here. She has a gentleman with her. Whocanitbe?” 

David Jones, who had seen both the visitors, answered 
the question at once. 

“ I can tell you. That is her great friend. Colonel Arbuth- 
nott. They are inseparable, whenever the colonel is in 
Llanty-gollen.” 

Indeed ! And what does my friend, the captain, say to 
that ? ” 

David Jones laughed. 

“He does not seem to mind it, although the colonel has 
accompanied Mrs. Jefferson on summer excursions when he 
was otherwise engaged. But then (as she says herself) she 
can do things that other women could not attempt, because 
the standard she has set up for herself is such a very high 
one.” 

“ Hum, hum ! ” said Ernest Solun. 

The stranger had listened eagerly to this conversation. 


PARSON JONES. 


93 


although both the men had imagined that they had spoken 
in a tone inaudible to anyone but themselves. At that 
moment Mrs. Jefferson and her particular friend appeared 
on the scene of action. 

“ Ah, Mr. Jones ! ” she said, ignoring altogether her hus- 
band’s guest, “ how are you ? Colonel Arbuthnott and I 
have had the most delightful stroll ; on an errand of mercy, 
of course, but I need not tell you that. You know me and 
my little way. I only live to make others happy. It is my 
little fad. Some may blame me and call me pedantic, but I 
do not care. Charity, Mr. Jones — charity before everything. 
I would sacrifice my life for it." 

“ Please introduce me," whispered Miss Abbott to the 
parson. 

“ What does the lady say ? " demanded Mrs. Jefferson. 

Then Parson Jones had no option but to reply : 

“ The lady is a Miss Abbott who has come to Llanty- 
gollen to forward the interests of a society for woman’s 
work. I have only had the pleasure of knowing her myself 
for a few minutes. She is very desirous of becoming 
acquainted with the most influential ladies of the neighbor- 
hood. Perhaps you are the best person, Mrs. Jefferson, to 
tell her if such a mission would be patronized in Llanty- 
gollen." 

“ A mission to do good ? " exclaimed the lady. “ I hope 
so indeed ! Why, I would lay down my life if I could do 
any good by it ! What do we live for, if not to make others 
happy ? Many people laugh at me for my enthusiasm, but 
I do not care. It is my little fad to make the world hap- 
pier, isn’t it. Colonel Arbuthnott ? I meet with ingratitude, 
but it never damps my ardor. I have set up a high standard 
for myself, and I mean to act up to it." 

“ Your fervor in the cause of right, madam, is not con- 
fined to your own parish," interposed Miss Abbott, “ but has 


94 


PARSON JONES. 


reached far and wide. That is the reason that I was so 
desirous to have an introduction to you, feeling that if I 
gained ear I had gained everything.” 

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Jefferson, looking very gratified. 
“ I trust, then, that you will have time to come and visit me 
at Heddlewick, Miss Abbott, and make me fully acquainted 
with the object of your mission. I do not think she is likely 
to find me unsympathetic, do you, William ? ” she continued, 
turning to Colonel Arbuthnott for approval. 

“ No, indeed, by Jove ! ” said the colonel. 

Ernest Solun having managed by this time to escape, 
Mrs. Jefferson again addressed the stranger, and entreated 
her to return to luncheon with her and tell her everything 
about the society of which she was secretary. 

Miss Abbott was only too pleased and ready to accept tlie 
invitation, and in a few minutes David Jones found himself 
alone, gazing after the retreating forms of his friends and 
the stranger. The adventures of the morning formed the 
topic of the dinner table and the afternoon that succeeded 
it, but David Jones could not shake off the gloom that fol- 
lowed his conversation with Ernest Solun. The more he 
thought of it the more right he believed him to be — the 
more wrong his own conduct appeared to be. And yet 
there seemed no remedy for it. What could he do — what 
outlet was there for him from the slough into which he had 
fallen ? He thought, and thought, and thought, but his 
thoughts were like walking along a road to which there is no 
turning, and he never came to any conclusion except a dim 
melancholy. 

But it was more than melancholy — it became misery. 
For the first time in his life David Jones experienced what 
it was to sleep without being refreshed, and to wake up with 
a sense of undefined despair. Neither his wife nor his 
mother could imagine what had come to him. Selina, with 


PARSON JONES. 


95 


her practical mind, thought he must be bilious ; but Mary 
Jones, who had borne him, came nearer the truth in believ- 
ing that he was dissatisfied with the narrow range of work 
that Llanty-gollen gave him. “ Our David,” as she said to 
Lina, “ who is capable of turning thousands to the Lord by 
the power of his voice, is waking to the consciousness that 
his great talents are wasted in such a place as this. But 
what can one do, but watch and pray that a more suitable 
field may be opened to him ? ” 

Meanwhile the parson was thinking that he had never 
been fitted for any field at all, and that the sooner other 
people found that out for him, the better. 


VII. 

Two days after the visit of Ernest Solun, Parson Jones 
was lying on his lawn, in the evening cool of what had been 
a transcendently lovely day. He had been, working excep- 
tionally hard all the afternoon, digging up the earth for a 
fresh crop of potatoes, and was thoroughly tired out. As 
he lay with his muscular limbs stretched along the smooth 
green sward, and his head supported by his hand, he looked 
a fine specimen of a man, notwithstanding his large features 
and somewhat coarsened complexion. His favorite Mollie 
sat on the grass beside him, trying to amuse the fat, roly- 
poly Lina by making chains of daisies. The parson knew 
it was strictly wrong to let the pink-eyed daisies flourish on 
his lawn, but he always said that when it came to using his 
spud, he hadn't the heart to dig them up. He used to say 
he left them for the amusement of the baby, but he liked 
them quite as well as little Lina did. As he lay there now, 
with his eyes roving over his well stocked garden, his rows 
of pale green lettuce, and round, white broccoli — his fat 


PARSOlSf jOJVES. 


96 

pumpkins and smooth cucumbers — his feathery asparagus 
and curly endive, all the bountiful expression of a Creator’s 
care, his heart swelled with thankfulness that he and his 
were so well provided for. But he did not smile as he had 
been wont to do when enjoying a well earned holiday. 
Mollie perceived the difference and commented upon it. 

“ Papa, look at baby covered with daisy chains ! Doesn’t 
she look pretty ? Why don’t you answer, papa? Don’t you 
hear me speaking to you ? ” 

“Eh! eh, my darling, what was that you said?” de- 
manded Parson Jones, starting from a reverie, “does baby 
look pretty ? Why, of course she does. She couldn’t do 
anything else if she tried. Could you, my bonny lass ?” he 
continued, as he caught the infant in his arms. 

“ But why do you sigh, papa?” said the pertinacious 
Mollie, “I don’t like you to make that noise. It sounds so 
sorrowful.” 

“ I feel just a little sorrowful, Mollie dear, this evening,” 
replied her father, who generally addressed his children in 
the same language he did his wife. Selina was not a com- 
panion to him, though he had never acknowledged it even to 
himself. He always spoke to her as if she were a child — 
indeed, his Mollie was the better company to him of the 
two. And now, when he confessed to her that he was a 
little sorrowful, she drew nearer and placed her little hand 
on his brow. 

“But wAy, papa ?” she queried, “is it headache, or have 
you been naughty ? ” she added, in a lower tone. 

“ I hope not, Mollie dear ; not naughtier than usual, that 
is to say. But as you go through life, my darling, you will 
often think how little you have done for God, who has done 
so much for you. And that thought will make you sad — 
just for a while.” 

“ No, it wouldn’t,” said Mollie stoutly. 


PARSON- JONES. 


97 


“ Yes, it would, if you loved God and wished to please 
him," replied the parson, as he passed his hand fondly 
through her shining yellow hair. 

“ No, it wouldn’t,” repeated his little daughter, “ because 
if I felt sorry, I’d go and do something more for him straight 
off.” 

” And suppose you hadn’t the power to do any more, 
Mollie ; suppose you were held down, as it were, and couldn’t 
use your hands ? ” 

“ Oh, then I shouldn’t trouble,” said the young lady, “ be- 
cause God would know all about it, and that it wasn’t my 
fault.” 

Her father drew her suddenly to his side and covered her 
face with kisses. 

“ Dear little angel of truth,” he cried ; “and this is what 
some men would call on me to resign. Oh, no, it may be 
better for them — but for me. my happiness and safeguard lie 
in these dear possessions of mine.” 

Parson Jones turned round on his face on the grass as he 
murmured these words, and Mollie almost fancied her papa 
was crying, or she would have fancied so if he had not been 
such a big boy. At this juncture Selina came over the 
grass to her husband, and roused him from the temporary 
weakness into which he had fallen. 

“ O David, do get up ! What are you lolling about there 
for ? And without any waistcoat either. You must get up 
and make yourself decent. Miss Shaw has come, and grand- 
mamma and I don’t know what on earth to talk to her 
about.” 

“ Miss Shaw ! ” exclaimed the parson, as he tried to shake 
off the two children, who were clinging to him, and struggle 
to his feet ; “ where is she, Lina? ” 

“ Why, in the drawing room, of course, but she has asked 
for you more than once. She has brought a message for 


98 


PAkSON JONES. 


you from Mrs. Jefferson, I suppose. I don’t much like 
what I have seen of her, David, she doesn’t seem at all 
sociable.” 

“Oh, you mustn’t judge from first appearances, my dear,” 
replied her husband, as he stood on his feet and flicked the 
daisies off his habiliments, “ they are generally deceitful, 
you know. You will like her very much when you come to 
know her.” 

“ But, David, you are surely not going in to see the young 
lady like that ! ” cried Selina, with an affectation of horror 
at his unkempt appearance, although, to tell the truth, her 
own was not much better, and she had not the same excuse 
for being untidy. 

Parson Jones glanced down ruefully at his disordered 
dress. 

“ I am certainly not fit to speak to a lady,” he said, “ go 
back to Miss Shaw, my dear Lina, and tell her I have been 
gardening all day, but will be with her as soon as I can 
make myself presentable.” 

He walked off to the house by way of the stables as he 
spoke, carrying his baby in his arms, to deliver her to the 
care of the servant in the kitchen. When he appeared in 
the drawing room, a few minutes later, he was what his 
wife called decently, but still rather roughly attired. But 
his personal looks were the last things the parson of Llanty- 
gollen ever thought of. Verena Shaw seemed pleased to 
meet him. ^he even smiled, though very faintly, as he took 
her hand. 

“So you see, Mr. Jones, I have accepted your invitation,” 
was her first greeting to him, “ and I hope I have not come 
at an inconvenient time; but Mr. Solun left a packet with me 
to deliver to you, and Mrs. Jefferson also wished me to 
carry a message.” 

“You will always be welcome here. Miss Shaw, at any 


PARSON JONES. 


99 


time. I am sure that I can answer for that on behalf of 
my mother and wife, as well as myself. But what can Mr. 
Solun have to send me ? ” 

“ I think it must be a book,” replied Verena, “ at least 
it feels like one, but here it is,” she continued, placing a 
small parcel in the parson’s hands, “ and now I have accom- 
plished my mission.” 

“It is a book,” he said, as he opened it. “How very 
kind of him to send me a parting present. Don’t you think 
him a most wonderful man. Miss Shaw ? Were you not 
interested in his conversation ?” 

“I cannot say that I was, Mr. Jones, but then I did not 
listen to much of it. But Uncle Hal is very fond of Mr. 
Solun, so I suppose he must be a good creature. But he is 
surely rather eccentric.” 

“ Oh, Miss Shaw, I am so glad to hear you say so,” cried 
Selina, “ for my husband will not hear a word on the sub- 
ject. I saw Mr. Solun going in and out of Mr. Jones’ 
study, and I thought at first he was a beggar man — I did 
indeed — so shabby, and such a wild look in his eyes. He 
quite frightened us, didn’t he, grandmamma ? ” 

“ He certainly did not look a missionary (which is next 
door to being a clergyman) to me,” assented old Mrs. Jones ; 
“ but then. Miss Shaw, you see we are blest in having such 
a high standard placed before our eyes, that any eccen- 
tricity ” 

“ Now, mother, that’s quite enough,” said Parson Jones 
warningly, and his mother subsided meekly, and only added : 

“Very well, my son, since you wish it to be so,” and 
redirected her attention to her knitting. 

“And Mrs. Jefferson’s message?” continued the parson 
to his visitor. 

Quite a different expression came over the girl's face. It 
became proud and cold at once, 


lOO 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Oh, yes ; I had almost forgotten it. She is very anxious 
for another visit from you, Mr. Jones. Not on my account 
this time. I think, and hope, that my sins and shortcom- 
ings are almost lost in oblivion before the reigning excite- 
ment.” 

And who is the reigning excitement, Miss Shaw ?” 

“ No less than Miss Abbott, who, in conjunction with my 
uncle’s wife, is going to convert the world, or so they 
believe.” 

The parson started. 

“ Miss Abbott! You never mean that shabby little woman 
who came on a begging expedition from some society ? I 
imagined she had left Llanty-gollen the same day.” 

“ Oh, dear, no. She is all but located at Heddlewick 
Manor ; at least she seems never out of it for an hour 
together. She and Aunt Harriet’s great friend. Colonel 
Arbuthnott, are forever laying their heads together over 
some wonderful scheme or other.” 

“I wish Mrs. Jefferson had inquired a little into this 
stranger’s antecedents,” said David Jones, with a per- 
turbed look, “before admitting her to a footing of intimacy. 
People are so often taken in that way.” 

“ Oh, I fancy it is all right,” replied the girl carelessly, 
“because Uncle Hal says it is. And Mrs. Jefferson must 
have some excitement to carry her through the day, you 
know, so I daresay this is as innocent as anything else 
would be.” 

“It is a pity she cannot find her pleasures more among 
her own people,” said Parson Jones. “ I am afraid it must 
be a dull house for so young a person as yourself. Miss 
Shaw.” 

“ Every house would be dull to me,” replied Verena 
quietly. 

^‘True, for the present. We all feel that, But this 


PARSON JONES. 


lOI 


kind of life gives you no chance of recovering your usual 
spirits. It is selfish of Mrs. Jefferson in the extreme, not 
to remember what is due to you. I am afraid you must 
find Llanty-gollen very unattractive after your own home.” 

“ Where was your home, my dear ? ” asked old Mrs. 
Jones, with a curiosity which her son would never have 
dared to evince. But Miss Shaw answered the question 
quite calmly. 

“ My dear mother and I lived at Cheltenham for several 
years before her death. It is considered a very gay place. 
There are a great many balls and parties there during 
the season.” 

“ Oh !” cried Selina with a gasping breath, “ how delight- 
ful ! And did you go to them all ? And were there any 
military there ?” 

“ Yes ! ” replied Verena, “I used to attend the assemblies 
pretty regularly, and there was always some regiment 
quartered near. And they were very nice balls — very nice 
— all the girls used to enjoy them.” 

Selina would fain have asked some more questions, but 
was checked by the awful solemnity of her mother-in-law. 

‘‘ Selina ! ” exclaimed the old lady, “ I am astonished at 
you ! What has the wife of a' minister of the Gospel to do with 
such things ? I do not condemn them, for those to whose 
consciences they approve themselves, but for^^?^^ — the wife 
of my dear son — the mother of his children — to express 
even an interest in such frivolity, is little short of wicked- 
ness ! And the military too' ! Why should the military be 
delightful ? A set of gambling, drinking, blaspheming 
men ! You should scorn, as the helpmeet of one of the 
Lord’s servants, to speak of such a wicked crew.” 

“Come, come! mother!” interposed David Jones, as 
he put his arm kindly about his wife, who was on the verge 
pf tears at the old lady’s rebuke, “ You must not speak of 


102 


PARSON JONES. 


the members of an honorable profession in that manner if 
you wish to maintain a character for charity. And why 
shouldn’t our poor little Lina consider a dance delightful ? 
There is nothing wicked in dancing. I only wish the poor 
child had had a few more of the pleasures natural to her 
age ? But you chose to be so silly as to marry me, Lina, 
and come here to be cooped up in Llanty-gollen, so you 
must pay the penalty of your folly, eh ?” 

‘‘ O David!” was all the happy wife could whisper, but 
the mother’s indignation knew no bounds. 

“ You are wrong to speak to your wife like that, my son,” 
she exclaimed with unusual energy, “you lower your 
sacred profession by supposing it possible under any cir- 
cumstances a minister’s wife could attend such gatherings. 
You shock me, my dear ! You do indeed.” 

“Well, well ! there’s no chance of the temptation coming 
our way, so you needn’t alarm yourself, mother. Don’t go. 
Miss Shaw ! It is only seven o’clock, and you seem to have 
but just come. But perhaps we are keeping you from your 
dinner.” 

“ No ! My uncle and his wife are dining at the Gravi- 
lands to-night, or I should not have been able to visit you 
at this time. But I think I have made quite a long 
call.” 

“ No ! no ! do stay a little longer ! Lina, my dear ! have 
you no tea to offer our guest ? ” 

Thus reminded of her duty, Selina rang the bell, which 
was answered by their only servant with the baby Lina in 
her arms. At the sight of the child, Verena Shaw started, 
and colored, and could not help exclaiming : 

“Oh! what a lovely baby ! Is that yours, Mrs. Jones? 
Don’t let her take it away again ! I do love little children 

SO. 

She held out her arms toward the infant as she spoke, 


PARSON JONES. 103 

and Parson Jones took it from the servant and carried it to 
her side. 

“We are rather proud of our little Lina,” he said, caress- 
ing the child, “ and fancy that if there were a baby show 
held in Llanty-gollen, she would take a prize. But that is 
doubtless only a parent’s vanity.” 

“ Oh, no ! no ! she is a darling ! — she is sweetly pretty !” 
exclaimed Miss Shaw, with more interest than she had 
evinced in anything before. “ Let me take her in my arms ! 
I am sure she will be good with me.” 

“ I am afraid she will cry,” said the parson doubtfully ; 
“she is a shy little creature. You see there is no company 
for her to get accustomed to in Llanty-gollen, and you may 
say she has never seen anyone but her mother and grand- 
mother and me. So don’t call her naughty if she takes 
fright at your kind intentions. Miss Shaw.” 

“ She will not cry with me,” persisted the girl, and in 
effect she smiled so sweetly at little Lina that the baby 
cooed at her instead of puckering up her face as anticipated, 
and nestled down quite comfortably in her arms. Every- 
body was astonished, and the mother and grandmother 
were a little jealous ; but the baby cooed on, and Miss 
Shaw was triumphant. 

“ I thought you did not like children,” said the parson, 
remembering some allusion she had made to the subject on 
the occasion of their first meeting. 

“Have I ever said so?” asked Verena. “Ah, you 
mustn’t always take what I say for Gospel, Mr. Jones. I 
was in one of my bad moods that day, and ready to say 
anything. But I have always loved children. I wanted to 
have been educated for the purpose of teaching, only — 
only — ” she went on rather falteringly, “ only — circum- 
stances prevented it.” 

“ You would have found it a very trying task, and per- 


104 


PARSON JONES. 


haps beyond your strength,” replied the parson, anxious to 
divert the girl’s mind from the sad thought which had evi- 
dently interposed to make her falter ; “ but, if you are fond 
of teaching, why not help me with my Sunday-school ? I 
shall be very glad of your help, I can assure you. We have 
not many teachers in Llanty-gollen.” 

But Miss Shaw had already shrunk back into her shell. 

“ Oh, no, I couldn’t, thank you. Not that sort of teach- 
ing, you know. One must believe what one teaches with 
all one’s heart and soul, or else one is only a hypocrite and 
self-deceiver. I could not look innocent children and 
ignorant people in the face unless every word I taught 
them to believe came from the bottom of my heart. I 
would kill myself sooner.” 

Mary Jones was about to raise her voice against the 
wrong of such an assertion, when, to her astonishment, she 
heard her son exclaim : 

“You are right, Miss Shaw, quite right! Would that 
every teacher in the world felt as acutely as you do.” 

After a little more admiration of and play with little Lina, 
Miss Shaw rose to take her leave ; and the parson offered 
to walk back to Heddlewick with her. 

“ It is rather a lonely road. Miss Shaw, and the gloaming 
has begun to fall. I am sure your uncle would rather you 
did not walk home by yourself. Pray accept my escort.” 

“ Ann is going down to the village to see her mother this 
evening,” suggested Selina, “ and I am sure she would not 
mind going a little out of her way to see Miss Shaw safe 
to the Manor. So there is no need for you to stir out again 
to-night, David.” 

Here was one of those awkward speeches which women 
too often make, in an honest desire to save trouble to their 
own kith and kin. But David Jones, though born and 
bred in the country, was too much a courtier at heart to 


PARSON JONES. 105 

allow his wife’s suggestion to carry any weight with him. 
He answered at once : 

“ By no means ! Do you think I would let Miss Shaw 
walk home with a servant when I am here to escort her ? ” 

And though Verena naturally sought to dissuade him 
from his purpose, and declared herself quite capable of 
going alone, the parson stuck to his determination, and, 
after many farewells to the beautiful baby, they set forth 
together. It was still comparatively early, but the gloam- 
ing had already fallen, for dark clouds blowing up from the 
south foretold a night of rain. As Parson Jones and his 
girl friend passed down the drive the tall white feathers of 
the pampas grass waved their ghostly arms about in antici- 
pation of the coming storm, and there was a low, soughing 
moan rippling through the leaves of the acacias. The 
lane upon which the parsonage grounds abutted was over- 
shadowed by elm and oak trees, so that the road was rather 
dark, and Verena pressed closer to her companion’s side as 
they entered it. 

“You are a little timid, he observed. “You are not 
used to be much alone, I fancy.” 

“ Indeed, you are mistaken, Mr. Jones. My poor mother 
died of a lingering illness that kept her bed-ridden for 
more than a year, and during all that time I was naturally 
obliged to be much alone — especially in walking,” she added 
after a pause. 

“ It was a great grief for you, my dear girl,” remarked 
the parson, in a paternal manner, “ to lose your dear 
mother, and especially as you are fatherless.” 

I am not fatherless,” said Verena quickly. 

Parson Jones started. 

“ Not fatherless ? How can I have made such a mistake ? 
I quite believed you were an orphan.” 

“ Well, in the true sense of the word, I am an orphan,” 


io6 


PARSON JONES. 


replied his companion, ‘‘for my father separated from my 
mother before I was old enough to remember him, and I 
have never seen him since.” 

“How very peculiar,” said the parson. 

“ Does it strike you so ? Then you must know very little 
of the great world, in which misery in married life seems to 
be the rule, rather than the expectation — at least it is so in 
my experience. Anyway my parents never lived together 
in my memory, and I think my poor mother was happier for 
the fact.” 

“But now ” said David Jones wonderingly, as he 

thought how proud any father might be of such a daughter. 

“ Why should he want me now^ when he has done with- 
out me all my life ? He is a rich man and he makes me a 
handsome allowance. I am aware that most of the people 
about Llanty-gollen imagine I am a pensioner on my uncle’s 
bounty, but they are wrong. I have more than sufficient 
for my personal need. Only I have no friends,” she added 
with a sigh, “ and money is of little use without them.” 

“ May I ask you where your father lives, Miss Shaw ? ” 
said the parson. 

“ Certainly, there is no secret in the matter. He lives in 
Queen’s Gate, London. That is why my dear mother never 
moved out of Cheltenham. She so dreaded meeting him.” 

“ And would not like to do so. Miss Shaw ?” 

The girl’s dark eyes flashed fire. 

“/meet him! he, who made my mother miserable ? Why, 
if I knew his whereabouts I would run twenty miles the 
other way.” 

“ It is very sad,” the parson was reiterating, when Verena 
suddenly gripped his arm with a force that gave him pain. 
He looked up and saw her head inclining toward his 
shoulder, her face ashen gray and her eyes wide set and 
^taring. 


PARSON’ JONES. 


107 


“ Oh ! ” she ejaculated, with a frightened gasp, and then 
she closed her eyes and looked as if she were about to faint. 

“ What is it, my dear Miss Shaw,” exclaimed the parson, 
quite alarmed by her appearance, but she did not answer 
him. Hearing a footstep near at hand, David Jones 
wheeled round, thinking it might be a footpad, the sight of 
whom had frightened her, but he only encountered the 
athletic form of young Bowling, a neighboring squire’s son, 
who was rather celebrated for his good figure and upright 
bearing. Anxious not to attract attention to the condition 
of Verena Shaw, Parson Jones was about to let young 
Bowling pass without recognition, but the latter hailed him 
at once. 

“ Hullo, parson,” he exclaimed, “ how are you ? We’ve 
not seen you for an age up our way. How’s that ? Too 
busy sowing the good seed, eh ? ” 

“ I have been rather busy, Mr. Bowling, lately, but hope 
to call on the squire soon. My regards to him and your 
mother. Good-night.” 

“ And now, what were you frightened at ?” he demanded 
of Verena Shaw, as the young man passed on his way. “ You 
quite alarmed me for a moment. I thought you were 
going to faint. Did Mr. Bowling startle you ? He is a 
nice young fellow, but wanting polish.” 

The girl had recovered herself by this time. 

“ How foolish you must think me, and when I had been 
boasting of my courage, too. Yes, he did startle me just 
for the moment. We had been talking of old times, you 
know, and his figure reminded me of someone. Oh, it is 
nothing, Doa’t mind what I say,” she went on hurriedly, 
“ I am foolish and nervous like the rest of my foolish sex, 
and it is rather dark just here,” she added, pressing still 
closer to the arm she held. David Jones looked down upon 
the slight figure clinging to him with infinite compassion. 


loS 


PARSON JONES. 


She was so young, so friendless, so bereft of everything that 
makes life joyous to the young. Such a pathetic worn face 
she lifted to his own, as if she were haunted by some never- 
dying memory, such mournful liquid eyes, such thin trans- 
parent hands, and such a fragile figure. The parson felt 
as if, in the fervor of his desire to do her good, he could 
have lifted the slight frame in his strong arms and never 
let it go until he had placed it on the Mercy Seat. The 
arm to which Verena clung trembled a little under it’s 
rough coat sleeve, as he replied : 

“Don’t be afraid. You are safe with me. You know, I 
hope, that I would not let anything or an5^body hurt you.” 

She laughed, but a little hysterically, at his seriousness. 

“ Oh, you must not think me so silly as to be really 
afraid. I only got a start, because I am not very well or 
strong just now. I had an illness before I came to Llanty- 
gollen, did not Mrs. Jefferson tell you ? a nervous fever, 
and it has left me stupidly weak and fanciful. You must 
please to attribute all my eccentricities to that.” 

“ You want care and rest and affection. Miss Shaw. 
Those will be your best medicines now, unless, indeed, I 
could be so happy as to imbue your mind with the belief I 
so firmly hold myself, namely, that there assuredly is a 
blissful hereafter for those who have gone before us, and 
tried to do their duty while they remained here. 

“ I think if anyone could convince me of that, without 
any visible proof, Mr. Jones,” said Verena, “ it would be 
yourself, and the beautiful life you seem to lead at home.” 

Parson Jones’ features beamed with delight. 

“ Ah, didn’t I tell you that the little children would be 
your best teachers ? Who could look at them and all the 
happiness they bring, and still believe seriously that the 
merciful God who made them, made them only to last a 
little hour, and decay.” 


PARSON JONES. 


tog 

“ Lina is a little angel,” said Verena thoughtfully. 

“ She will be some day, please God,” replied the father 
solemnly, “ and so will you, my dear young friend, and all 
whom he gathers to himself.” 

” I don't think there is much chance of his including 
me,'* said the girl with a grimace. “ You don’t know what 
I am, Mr. Jones — no one knows — not even myself. I can 
believe in nothing. I am sick of the world and all the 
people in it. I don’t want ever to see them again — ever to 
remember that I have seen them. Oh, for sleep ! calm, 
quiet, dreamless sleep. The idea of that is better thaq all 
the Paradises that were ever invented.” 

“ My child ! ” exclaimed the parson, “ how can you say 
so how can you think so ? Cannot you imagine a Para- 
dise where you would be re-united to your lost mother and 
live with her in happiness forever ? ” 

“No,” said the girl slowly, “ because— because — other 
people would be there also.” 

The parson thought she was alluding to her father. 

“ Perhaps ! Indeed, it is our duty to hope and pray, 
that all who are related to us, shall be eternally saved. 
But that would increase our own happiness — not dimin- 
ishit.” 

“It would not increase mine, Mr. Jones. There are 
some things in my life so exquisitely painful, that I shall 
never get over them in this world, or another (if there is 
another). I might pardon — I might forego revenging myself 
— I might wish the actors in such tragedies no harm, but I 
would not pass a week with them — far less an eternity.” 

“ But you will not see matters with the same eyes there, 
as you do here. All things will appear in a clearer light to 
you. You will learn to view your own faults with greater 
severity, and those of your friends with less.” 

“ Then I shall not be myself. I shall have changed my 


no 


PARSON JONES. 


identity, and I do not want to change. I would rather go 
to sleep and forget everything forever.” 

“ But it will not be according as you wish, dear child,” 
said David Jones. “ It will be all decided for you, and, if 
you would only believe it, by one who loves you much bet- 
ter than you love yourself.” 

“ He could hardly love me less,” replied Verena bitterly. 

“ Miss Shaw ! you made me very happy just now, by 
saying that if anyone could persuade you to believe in an 
hereafter, you thought 1 could. Will you let me try ? 
Will ^ friend and not shut up your heart 

from me ? Tell me all that you think about the great 
change we call death, and what comes after it, and let me, 
too, speak as freely to you, so that out of our joint argu- 
ments we. may arrive at some satisfactory conclusion 
together. For you must not imagine, dear child, that 
because a man is a minister, he must necessarily know 
much more than other people. He far oftener learns from 
his parishioners, than teaches them. And this immeasur- 
able subject in which we all have the same amount of inter- 
est, surely it is one that the mere fact of our being fellow 
mortals makes the most suitable topic for our discussion.” 

“ I should like to believe — to be surej said Verena in a 
low voice, “ and if you could make me quite, quite sure, I 
should be grateful. But it is all so dark, so uncertain. It 
is so much easier to believe that we die as the animals and 
the flowers die, and that there is an end of us.” 

“ But are you sure that the animals and flowers die and 
have an end, Miss Shaw, any more than ourselves ? ” 

Verena opened her eyes. 

“ Oh, Mr Jones ! you are surely not going to try and 
make me believe that dogs and cats and roses and lilies 
have a hereafter, as you suppose that people do.” 

“ I don’t know why I shouldn’t ! There is only one 


PARSO.V JONES. 


Ill 

thing that I would not have you believe — that there is any 
limit to the power, or mercy of God, or that finite creatures 
like ourselves are able to understand one thousandth part 
of his plans for the ultimate happiness of the works of his 
hands. Cats and dogs are quite as much his creations as 
you or I, and in almost every instance much more deserv- 
ing of a reward than man. How patient they are under 
suffering ! — how forgiving of injuries, how good-natured 
(as a rule), how careful of their young ! Animals possess a 
thousand good qualities which we miss in the human race 
every day. I wonder who was the first man who spread 
the belief that they have no souls. The Bible does not say 
so. It speaks of ‘ the spirit of the beast.’ I should be 
sorry to think my faithful old collie would cease entirely to be, 
when his course is run, for I have never had a more sym- 
pathizing friend in weal or woe, than he has been to me.” 

Mr. Jones!” said Verena suddenly, dixt you quite 
happy ? ” 

The parson started. 

“ Af?t I quite happy ? What a strange question to ask me! 
How could I be otherwise ? You have seen my home — and 
my wife and children ; I could certainly do with a little more 
of this world’s goods, but I am a man of very simple tastes 
and have not been accustomed to luxuries. I do, some- 
times, I confess, look forward to the time when my boys 
and girls shall be grown up, and wonder how they are to be 
educated so as to gain their own livelihood, for that must 
of c-ourse be their ultimate destiny. But it does not do to 
look forward. The present is our own and the future may 
not be. The only thing we can do is to trust.” 

“But are you quite, quite happy?” persisted Verena, 
“You told me so the first time we met, I remember, but I 
have sometimes thought since that it was only a fagon de 
parler. For it seems so little to make a man happy — a vil- 


pAkSON- JOMES. 

lage — a garden — a child’s affection. We mortals want SO 
much (what shall I call it ?) so much soul sympathy, 
so much intellectual intercourse, something higher and 
better than our own selves, to make life satisfactory. Oh, 
I feel I am talking nonsense — that you will think me a 
fool, for I can’t say what I mean ; but I feel the want of it, 
Mr. Jones, every hour that I live.” 

“ I do understand 5^011, Miss Shaw — I even understand 
the difficulty of expression of which you complain — and I 
sympathize. But does not this very inexplicable yearning 
for the infinite teach you that there is something within 
you that soars above this world, that lifts you to the heaven, 
in which you profess not to believe ? Oh, if I could only 
make you believe, how much happier you would be ! ” 

They had arrived at Heddlewick Manor by this time — 
had traversed the park by which it was surrounded and 
stood upon the doorstep. 

“ Good-night ! Mr. Jones ! ” said Verena, holding out her 
hand to him, “ make me believe !" 

And as the parson wended his way homeward, he vowed 
to Heaven that, if it were within the compass of his power, 
he would. 


VIII. 

There was no doubt at all about it — Parson Jones was 
a changed man. He played with and caressed his children 
as much as usual — he worked in his garden and helped the 
stable boy Tom with the pony, the poultry, and the pigs. 
But his heart seemed to be no longer in these things. 
Selina, the practical, reported that he disturbed her so 
much at night, by turning, and tossing, and moaning in his 
sleep, that she didn’t know how to get through the day’s 
work ; and he had even been known, when his mother, be- 


PARSOM JONES, itj 

lieving that his unusual behavior must arise from the state 
of his liver, followed him all over the house with a box of 
rhubarb pills in her hand, to tell her for God’s sake to leave 
him alone and not worry any more. Mary Jones had re- 
treated to her own room on that occasion and implored 
the Almighty, with many tears, to have mercy on her mis- 
guided son. That David should have spoken irritably to 
her was a revelation, and only proved how sweet his 
temper must have been to have made such an occurrence 
a matter for astonishment. But even little Mollie observed 
that her Dada always had a headache nowadays. That was 
the crowning point. Selina could bear all things for her- 
self, but the children were her idols, and for their sakes she 
bearded the lion in his den (if indeed, so good and gentle 
a creature as David Jones could, under any circumstances, 
be likened to a lion, unless it were a very tame one). So 
one afternoon, as the parson was seated in his study, not 
reading, but leaning on the little table with his head in his 
hands, his wife’s rather portly figure appeared in the door- 
way. 

“ What is the matter with you, David ? ” she commenced, 
in quite an authoritative tone for her. “ Are you ill ?” 

“Ill, my dear ? ” exclaimed Parson Jones, starting from 
his reverie. “ No ! of course not. Whatever makes you. 
think so ? ” 

“ Well, I can’t understand any other reason for your 
neglecting things as you do. There’s Tom just come in 
to say that he has found three of our best chickens dead 
from croup, and that he told you they were sickening yes- 
terday, and you said you would give them some pills.” 

“ So I did ! The poor chickens ! I quite forgot them. 
It is not often I forget the animals, Lina.” 

“ I know you do not, so it is all the more remarkable,” 
replied his wife. “ But it is not only their suffering I am 


114 


PARSON JONES. 


thinking of, David. It is the loss to ourselves and the dear 
children. I was counting on being able to kill some of 
those chickens this week. We so seldom see butchers’ 
meat now.” 

“What if we do not?” asked her husband; “we are 
only in the same plight as hundreds of people, who are 
more deserving than ourselves. How many of my parish- 
ioners have meat, except on Sundays, I wonder? And yet 
their children live and thrive. Why should not ours do 
the same ? ” 

“ O David ! ” exclaimed Selina ; “ do you suppose that 
the dear babies can live on vegetables? ” 

“Why not? Were I a vegetarian, I presume I should 
have brought them up to do so. There are plenty of cab- 
bages, and carrots, and potatoes in the garden. Why can’t 
we dine on them once in a way ? But there, my dear ! 
don’t look so unhappy, as if I had asked you to give up 
feeding altogether. We can still afford to have a little meat 
occasionally, and I do not grudge it you. Only sometimes 
when we run short let us try to practice a little self-denial 
and live as our poorer neighbors do — as our dear Lord did. 
It may teach us to be more mindful of their wants and less 
of our own.” Selina answered nothing, but stood at the 
study door, with the tears rolling silently down' her cheeks. 

“ My dear girl, what is the matter ? What have I said 
to make you cry ? ” demanded the parson. 

“You seem to be so different of late,” said Selina, sniff- 
ing in an unromantic manner. “ Everybody says so. Even 
the children have observed it. Mollie says you always 
seem as if you had a headache now, and grandmamma 
cried last night after you left us, because you spoke so 
shortly to her.” 

The parson looked infinitely pained. The lines on his 
forehead deepened and his eyes became distressed. 


PARSOJV JONES. 


1^5 

“ Is that really the case ? ” he said. “ Have I been such 
an unfeeling brute as to make my dear old mother shed 
tears — so selfishly absorbed in my own thoughts that my 
little children notice my indifference to them ? God for- 
give me ! I did not mean to be so unkind, Lina. I have 
been culpably thoughtless, my dear wife, but I did not 
know that I was wronging anyone by my absff action. I 
will go to my mother at once and beg her pardon for my 
unkindness. Fancy making her cry at her age ! I shall 
never forgive myself. And what shall I do for you and the 
babies, my darling ? Shall we organize a nice picnic to 
More-gibby ? I know you all enjoy a picnic, down to the 
old mother. When shall it be, dear ? Would there be 
time to get it ready for this afternoon ? It is such a glori- 
ous day, and I must have my little Lina with us. What do 
you say, little mother ? ” 

Selina was not very little, but she liked to be called so, 
perhaps all the more for that. But though she smiled at 
her husband’s fond appellation, there was something she 
wanted more even than the picnic. 

“ Yes^ yes, dear ; I shall be able to manage it, I daresay 
— only, Davy, I want to know why you have been so dull 
and silent lately.” 

“ I have been thinking very deeply, my dear.” 

“ But of what ? ” 

“ That is what I cannot tell you, or, to speak more cor- 
rectly, what I am not yet prepared to tell you. Some day 
perhaps I may — I am not sure, for I have a problem in my 
head, which may never be worked out, but should it be ” 

“ Should it be ” echoed Lina inquisitively. 

“ I shall be forced to confide in you, my dear, for I could 
not put my ideas into execution without your co-operation. 
Will you be satisfied with so lame an explanation, Lina ? 
for I cannot tell you any more yet," 


ii6 


PARSON JONES. 


“ I am satisfied with anything,” replied his wife, “ so long 
as you love me, David.” 

The parson laughed at the sentimental rejoinder. He 
had no more idea at that moment that it would be possible 
to love anybody else but his wife than he imagined he could 
fly. He was one of those men — very rare, alas ! — who 
believe the*marriage ceremony renders it not only culpable 
but impossible to love again, until death releases them from 
their God-given vow. His answer was to kiss Selina on 
her somewhat ruddy face, as he ran out of the study in 
search of his mother. He found her in her usual corner 
of the parlor, patiently darning the family stockings as 
quickly as her failing eyesight would permit her to do. 
The parson rushed up to her side and threw himself on his 
knees before her as impetuously as if he had been still a 
boy. 

“ Mother ! ” he exclaimed fervently, “ will you forgive 
me ? ” 

Mary Jones took off her glasses and gazed at her son’s 
expressive face. 

“ Forgive you, my dear ! — for what ? ” 

For having been so selfish as to wound you and my 
poor patient Lina by my brooding and abstracted ways of 
late.” 

Oh, my son, there is nothing to forgive on Selina’s part 
or mine. I hope she knows her duty better than to think 
so, and I am sure / do not. A minister of the Gospel, my 
dear David, is a man set apart from the crowd. His duties 
are so sacred — his responsibilities so heavy — that one can- 
not expect him to be always ready to laugh and talk like 
other people. I felt that your soul was engaged wrestling 
in prayer, perhaps, for some poor unconverted sinner, and 
our duty was to stand aloof and pray also, that your efforts 
ynight he crowned with spcccss.” 


PARSON JONES. 


II7 

“ But, mother, you are wrong. I wasn’t doing any such 
thing. I have been pondering over some rather serious 
truths, or so they seem to me, that I have come across 
lately, and not being able to make up my mind on the sub- 
ject made me ill-tempered and disagreeable.” 

“ No, no ! my son, I will not have you accuse yourself 
unnecessarily. You have been a little absent and pre- 
occupied, certainly, but I felt sure there was a good cause 
for your condition.” 

Parson Jones looked slightly melancholy. 

“ I am not at all sure of that myself, mother.” 

“ But what is it that has worried you, David ?” 

He answered her question with another. 

“ Mother ! what do you consider a man ought to do, if 
he finds that he has taken the vows of the Church upon 
himself without due consideration ? ” 

“ A minister, my dear son ? ” 

Yes, a man who professes to be such.” 

‘‘ O David ! you are speaking of some friend of yours. 
Poor, unhappy, misguided creature ! what can he do ? He 
— who has sworn to the Lord falsely, has taken on himself 
those hallowed duties by which he should bring so many to 
the Throne of Grace, and by his defalcation will probably 
(as the Scripture says) make them tenfold more the chil- 
dren of Satan than himself.” 

“ Do you think if a parson resigned the ministry of the 
Church it must needs have that effect, mother ? Might 
not those whom he would succor, but felt himself unworthy 
to teach, appreciate his retirement from so exalted an office 
and respect his honesty, while they lamented his inability ? ” 

“ No ! no ! ” said the old lady decidedly, “ Everyone of 
right feeling would despise him. He would be on a par 
with the soldier who deserts his post in a moment of danger 

with fhe doctor \rho throws up the case when his patiepi 


FA/? so AT JONES. 


1 18 

is in extremis^ because their nerves failed them. Oh, my 
dear son, if this unhappy friend of yours is within the 
range of your influence, tell him he must die before he turns 
renegade. Has he a mother ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” replied the parson in a low voice. 

Then tell him that, if she is a decent woman, he will 
break her heart. Why, David, I would rather see you in 
your grave than believe you could even contemplate such 
a dreadful thing. You have been my pride and my bless- 
ing ever since, now thirty-five years ago, your dear father 
returned thanks to God with me for the great and unex- 
pected good he had mercifully vouchsafed us. But I would 
shed less bitter tears over the sewing of your winding-sheet 
this moment, than I should if you came and told me that 
you had ever harbored such a dishonoring thought on your 
own account.” 

“That is enough, mother !” replied Parson Jones; “I 
wanted your opinion and lam glad you have given it without 
reserve. I daresay the man I alluded to will never have 
the courage to take so important a step ; but, should he dream 
of it again, I will repeat your words to him and I feel sure 
they will have weight. And now, don’t let us talk of so 
sad a subject any more, I want to take you and Lina and 
all the chickabiddies for a picnic to More-gibby this after- 
noon. Lina says she can do her part toward it, and I am 
sure the little ones will readily consent. But v^iW you ac- 
company us, mother, for 1 am not going without you.” A 
tear of gratified pride trembled in the old lady’s eye as she 
heard these words, though she pretended to be quite indif- 
ferent to them. 

“ Why, my dear ! ” she said, “ what good should my going 
do you? You see no one can ride if I take up the pony 
chaise, whereas you can pack almost all the children in, 
wh^n tbe^ ar^ tired, 3esi4es, au q 14 woman like me is only 


PARSON JONES. 


19 


a nuisance in such expeditions. Better take the wife and 
bairns and leave me at home to see that your supper is all 
ready for you on your return.” 

“ We do not go without you,” persisted the parson ; 
you know you’re the greatest baby of the lot, and / know 
you’re the dearest.” 

Then the dear old woman became quite hilarious. 

“ Mollie ! Mollie ! ” she called out, ‘‘ come here directly ! 
What do you think ? Father is going to take us all to a 
picnic this afternoon, to More-gibby fields. Do you re- 
member, what a delightful one we had there last year? 
Run quickly and ask Ann if your white frock has come 
from the wash ; and, if it hasn’t, she must run over to Mrs. 
Lewis and fetch it home herself.” 

“ Oh, never mind the clean frock,” said the father, “ keep 
that for Sunday. We shall want to scamper over hedges 
and ditches to-day, and tumble down and make ourselves 
as dirty as we like, shan’t we, Mollie. Ann will have as 
much as she can do with helping Lina to pack up the 
basket, so we’ll go in the dirty frock to-day, my Mol- 
lie, eh ? ” . , ^ 

But Mollie did not seem to be thinking much about her 
frock. 

“Going for a picnic !” she exclaimed. “ Oh, lovely ! 
Only Miss Shaw must go, too, father. It won’t be half 
the fun without Miss Shaw. She knows all about the 
Latin names for the flowers, and what the stars are called, 
and she has promised to show me how to plait mats for 
mamma out of rushes. Papa ! do go over to Heddlewick 
and bring back Miss Shaw to go with us.” 

It will be seen by this speech that Verena Shaw had 
made great progress in her intimacy with the pastor’s 
children since their first meeting. Indeed, she had been 
very often the parsonage, oftener of late than either 


120 


PARSON JONES. 


Selina or old Mrs. Jones — both so jealous of the attention 
of any woman to their David — had cared for ; and, as soon 
as Mollie expressed her desire for the young stranger’s 
company, her grandmother was ready to take her up. 

“ Well ! children are the most incomprehensible little 
creatures ! Why on earth should you want Miss Shaw 
with us, Mollie, when you have your dear father and 
mother to keep you company ? ” 

“ Oh, but Verena is so nicej pleaded the little girl ; ‘‘ be- 
sides, papa likes her too, don’t you, papa ? ” 

“I do, Mollie, but I don’t think that her presence is in- 
dispensable to the enjoyment of our picnic. Still, if you 
have set your heart upon her coming with us, I will send 
Tom over to Heddlewick with a note, and if she is disen- 
gaged, I daresay she will join our party. When shall 1 tell 
Miss Shaw that we shall start, mother?” 

“ Well, David, you do spoil Mollie more than is right — 
I cannot help saying so — besides running the risk of mak- 
ing her dissatisfied with the society of her own people.” 

“No, I don’t think there is any fear of that,” rejoined the 
parson, looking fondly at his little daughter. “ Mollie will 
always love her father and mother and grannie, I am quite 
sure ; but it is natural she should like to see anyone who 
has been so kind to her as Miss Shaw. So, if she will join 
our humble party, she shall. What time shall I say we 
will start ? ” 

“ You had better ask your wife,” replied the old lady 
primly. “ She is the proper person to decide such things.” 

So Parson Jones ran away gayly to ask the same question 
of Selina, and came back after a while to say that they had 
decided to set out at twelve o’clock. 

“ I shall walk over to Heddlewick instead of writing, as 
Tom is busy and Lina thinks it will be best, so you better 
tell Ann to go |;o the laundress for j^our clean frock, Mollie, 


PARSON JONES. 


121 


at once, and then she will be back in plenty of time to help 
your mother pack the dinner for us.” 

“ Well, well,” quoth Mary Jones, as she found herself 
alone, “ how flighty the dear lad is, to be sure. First, he 
wouldn’t have the little maid in a clean frock for anything, 
and now Ann is to run as if she were mad to fetch it. I 
am not sure if it is becoming in a minister of the Gospel 
to change his mind so often ; still the child will look more 
decent in a clean smock, so it is not worth while to notice 
it. Perhaps my dear son remembered that / had wished it 
from the first, and desires to show me this little attention. 
God bless him ! Fie has ever been more mindful of my 
wishes than his own — for even in the matter of marriage he 
let me choose for him. And a good choice / made, too 
— though not I, for I laid the matter before the Lord and 
asked his direction — and he directed well, for my son could 
not have found a help more meet for him. She is a good 
wife and mother, Selina, though rather given to monopo- 
lize my boy’s attention, but who can blame her? She has 
a husband in a thousand, and may well be proud of the 
position to which I raised her. Well, well, I have many 
mercies to be thankful for,” concluded the old lady, with 
moistened eyes. 

Verena happened to be at home and disengaged when 
Parson Jones arrived at the manor, and accepted the invi- 
tation with alacrity. Mrs. Jefferson did not make any 
objection to the proposal. She appeared to have dropped 
the subject of Verena’s possible iniquities, since the parson 
had refused to believe in them, and directed her attention 
entirely to the scheme for woman’s work, which had been 
brought under her notice hy Miss Abbott. The parson 
found that lady also in the manor drawing room, very much 
at home apparently, and disposed to treat him with silent 
contempt. This woman inspired him with 4 very unusual 


122 


PARSON JONES. 


curiosity. The long visit she was paying to Llanty-gollen 
seemed inexplicable. Surely the mistress of Heddlewick 
did not find her company so interesting as to induce her to 
press her to remain. He distrusted Miss Abbott. She 
talked very vivaciously about the benefits of the institution 
which she represented, but she had very little to say of her 
fellow-workers. If all they did was to roam about the 
country after her own fashion, and teach their sister women 
to work, by setting them the example of being idle, why he 
did not think much of them. He generally had a sparring 
match with the stranger whenever they met, and he 
improved the interval while Miss Shaw assumed her walk- 
ing attire by engaging her in a controversy now. 

“Still in Llanty-gollen, Miss Abbott ?” he commenced. 
“ How is the society getting on without you ? And how 
many converts do you expect to take back with you from 
among us ? ” 

“ I trust I have enlisted one valuable recruit, Mr. Jones, 
who is worth all the rest of Llanty-gollen put together. 
Our little society will be very proud of the co-operation of 
Mrs. Jefferson, who, I am glad to say, thoroughly under- 
stands and appreciates our work.” 

“ Indeed I do,” chimed in the voice of their hostess. “ I 
can imagine no higher or nobler object than to raise our 
less gifted sisters out of their slough of despond and teach 
them the benefit of work.” 

“ But what kind of work ? ” queried the parson. “ I 
thought your sex complained of having too much to do as 
it is.” 

“All work — any work,” replied Mrs. Jefferson vaguely. 
“ Any sort of profitable labor by which the poor down- 
trodden creatures can free themselves from the tyranny of 
man.” 

“ Oh, I see/’ s^id her opponent, with ^ most provoking 


PARSON JONES. 


123 


laugh. “ Miss Abbott belongs to the shrieking sisterhood. 
She did not make it plain to me before. But how would 
you like to be freed from the tyrant man, Mrs. Jefferson, 
and have to work for yourself? And what would your 
friend. Colonel Arbuthnott, say to such heresy from your 
lips ? 1 thought you were all on the side of our despised 

sex. What does Miss Shaw say to it ? ” 

Verena, who had just entered the room again, curled her 
lip slightly and turned away. 

“ Oh, Miss Shaw does not take any kind of interest in 
7ny pursuits or pleasures,” said Mrs. Jefferson, answering 
for her ; “ she has her ideas about it all, doubtless, but she 
does not communicate them to me. Perhaps she has too 
much business of her own to think of, to concern herself in 
mine.” 

“You are quite right,” replied Verena gravely. “And 
now, if you are ready, Mr. Jones, so am I.” 

But Mrs. Jefferson could not let her go without a parting 
shot. “ Married ladies may have their little secrets,” she said, 
with a toss of her head, “because they are too often thrown 
upon themselves for advice or confidence, but unmarried 
girls are seldom reserved unless there is something wrong.” 
As soon as they were clear of the house, David Jones 
looked to see how his young companion had taken her aunt’s 
vulgar hint ; but, though her sweet face was grave, she was 
quite unruffled. 

“I often wonder what dear Uncle Hal would say if he 
could overhear his wife discussing all his little foibles with 
that odious stranger ! Mr. Jones, it seems very hard to me 
to distinguish between right and wrong. Not in great 
things, of course — they are clear enough — but in such a 
case as this. Here am I, who love my uncle, condemned 
to sit and listen to abuse of him at the hands of his wife ; 
and, if I make the least remonstrance, I am told that I was 


iH PARSOM JOUES. 

not appealed to. Were I in uncle’s place, I should wish to 
know of her treachery? but I cannot decide whether I 
should be doing a kind or an unkind act in telling him. 
Will you direct me? You are so good and so kind, I am 
sure that whatever you think must be right. I would trust 
myself entirely in your hands and abide by your decision, 
because I like — I mean, I esteem you so.” She had been 
gazing in his face from under the brim of her broad hat, 
but as she uttered the last words, she dropped her eyes and 
colored faintly. Parson Jones felt himself color too. He 
had been so little used to the society of women, and this 
girl interested him strangely. 

“ Please don’t call me good ! Don’t think of me as being 
so, for indeed I am not. If you only knew me as I am, 
dear Miss Shaw — how weak of purpose — how tardy in 
action — how uncertain and faltering — you would not choose 
me for your guide,” 

“ But you are a clergyman ! I thought they were espe- 
cially selected for the teaching and guidance of the people.” 

“ They are so intended, certainly, for such as believe 
what they hear them preach. But you do not believe in the 
doctrine I profess to hold. How then can you believe in 
me ? ” 

“Ah ! but that is just it?” she exclaimed eagerly; “I 
believe iwyott / I know you would not lead me wrong, and 
thdt you have had much more experience than I have, and 
so I would accept your dictum as gospel. I do believe in 
you, Mr. Jones,” the girl went on rapidly, “ your wife — your 
children — the affection of your parishioners-- everything 
about you, makes me see you are a man to whom I could 
confide the guidance of my life, without a shadow of doubt 
or fear, whether I could grasp your doctrine or not. I wish 
I could grasp it. I am sure it must be right, since you hold 
it— and sometimes I almost fancy I see a glimmering amid 


Parson Jones. 125 

the darkness. But it is too soon to speak of that yet. Let 
us return to the subject with which we started. Ought I to 
tell my uncle of the way in which he is talked over before 
Miss Abbott, or not ? ” 

Parson Jones could not answer her for a few moments. 
His head was turning round in a very unaccustomed man- 
ner with the unexpected sweetness of her praise and the 
expression of her confidence. No one had ever spoken to 
him like that before. His life had run in such an uninter- 
rupted and quiet course, that it was a revelation to him to 
hear a young and lovely girl speak as if he had been her 
brother, or father — as if he were on a level with herself, and 
not “the parson” — someone to be addressed with the 
utmost gravity and discretion, as if the shadow of the 
Church were ever between them. He tried to answer 
Verena Shaw’s very natural question, but his voice shook, 
and he could not manage it. That made him angry with 
himself, and, when he had gained sufficient self command 
to speak, he did so more roughly than there was any occa- 
sion for. 

“This is not a clerical matter. Miss Shaw, it is a private 
one. I hardly know how to advise you about it. If you 
inform your uncle of what is going on, you may — nay, you 
are sure to make mischief between his wife and himself, and 
Mrs. Jefferson will be more set against you than she is at 
present.” 

“ But I should never think of myself at all,” exclaimed 
Verena Shaw. “ It would not signify what happened to me 
— that is, if you think it is my duty to tell Uncle Hal. It 
is his good I am anxious for — not my own. If it is to make 
him more unhappy instead of less, I will not tell him at all ! 
But it looks like treachery to me, to be obliged to listen to 
abuse of him and say nothing. Don’t you understand, 
Mr. Jones, or am I too stupid to explain myself properly ? ” 


126 


PARSON JONES. 


“ I understand, Verena — I beg your pardon,” cried the 
parson correcting himself, “ I meant to say, Miss Shaw.” 

“ Oh, don’t say Miss Shaw,” said the girl, without the 
least affectation. “ Call me Verena, if you choose. It is 
not everyone I would like to call me so, for — for — there are 
many sad memories clinging round my Christian name, but 
I am sure they would never sting me from your lips, dear 
Mr. Jones,” 

“No! no! it will be better not,” replied David Jones 
hurriedly ; “ Mrs. Jefferson might not like it — people might 
make remarks — we will go on as we began. Well then. 
Miss Shaw, you have explained your meaning perfectly — so 
perfectly indeed, that instead of coming to me for counsel, 
it is I who should go to you. How is it that you, whose 
sentiments so well embody the Christian Faith, cannot 
embrace it ? ” 

“ But I believe that I could — if you taught me,” said 
Verena. 

Again Parson Jones felt that unaccountable thrill — half 
pain, half pleasure — as if he were being roused from sleep 
against his will. “You need not ask that. You know that 
I will teach you gladly — at least all that I know myself. 
But the way is hard, my dear child ! It is full of difficul- 
ties that rise up at every step to bar your path. I thought 
at one time that I thoroughly understood all the workings 
and intricacies of the Christian religion, but lately I have 
begun to doubt if I am not still at the A B C of faith.” 

“ You ! ” said Verena, in a tone of astonishment. “ Oh, Mr, 
Jones ! And I thought you were a past master in doctrine.” 

“ Because I have entered the Church ! ” replied Parson 
Jones. “ Yes, that is the usua* idea, and only the clergymen 
themselves know how unworthy they are of the calling they 
have been oftener pushed into, than been inspired to 
adopt.” 


PARSON JONES. 


127 


Oh, I am disappointed ! ” cried Verena, and indeed 
there was a suspicion of moisture in her dark eyes as she 
spoke. “ I thought — I thought ” 

“ A great deal too much of me, that is quite apparent,” 
said the parson. “ But still I may advise or instruct you as 
a friend, dear Miss Shaw. If I am not quite so worthy of 
the high pinnacle as that on which you have ignorantly set 
me, I am, at all events, a man who has studied these things 
more than you have — who is much older than you are, also 
— and who would give a great deal to see you restored to 
happiness and content.” 

Oh, that is out of the question. That can never be,” 
said the girl wearily ; but I was drawn to you the first 
time we ever met, in the churchyard, and I should love to 
have you for a friend. I am sure you would make a true 
friend — not like women who worm out all your secrets, and 
then repeat them to the next person they meet — and you 
would always lead me the right way instead of the wrong.” 

God helping me, I will, Miss Shaw. But if I am to 
consider myself your friend (and I assure you I shall not 
think lightly of the title, or it’s obligations), I shall expect 
you to confide in me. There can be no real friendship with- 
out trust and confidence, and I knew long ago that you 
have something on your mind that is troubling you.’ 

Verena grew scarlet. 

“ I will not deny it, Mr. Jones. I have had a secret 
trouble for some time past, and it has done much to harden 
me. But I don’t think I could tell it to anyone. It is too 
private.” 

“ Then how am I to convince you that this secret pain 
may be turned into a blessing, if you use the right means, 
if I do not even know what it is ? ” 

“ You would never convince me of that,” replied Verena, 
shaking her head. 


128 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Aha ! little friend, which of us is to be the teacher then, 
you or I ? The pupil might just as well tell his master that 
it was impossible he could ever teach him Latin. Only let 
me see your heart and I will tell you the cure. The doctor 
cannot help his patient, you know, unless he hears the 
symptoms of the disease.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but my disease is so deeply seated as to 
be past all relief.” 

How can you say that for certain until you have tried 
the doctor’s remedies? What you believe to be an 
incurable cancer, may prove to be only a temporary 
abscess.” 

“ If I could tell it to anybody, I could tell it to you^* 
said the girl shyly. 

The parson’s heart bounded with joy. 

“ What if I have already guessed your trouble ? — if in 
your innocence you have betrayed yourself ? ” he replied ; 
“it is connected with your heart — your soul — all your hopes 
of happiness — is it not ? Don’t be angry with me if I 
probe the wound too deeply. I would not hurt you un- 
necessarily for all the world, but if I am right, just say 
‘ yes ’ and I shall understand.” 

“ Yes,” said Verena Shaw ; “ but I do not know how I 
can have betrayed myself. I thought I had hidden my feel- 
ings so successfully that no one knew I suffered. It is an 
old sore now, but it seems to get worse with time instead 
of better.” 

“ Such sores always do, dear child, because they insult 
the God who created us for happiness and not misery. 
Your or/n heart tells you it is wrong of you to encourage 
such a feeling, does it not? ” 

“ Yes ! I suppose it is wrong,” replied Miss Shaw doubt- 
fully. 

“ Don’t speak so dubiously. There is no doubt of the 


FA I? so AT JONES. 129 

wrong of anything that takes us further from God instead 
of closer to him.” 

“How could anyone in their senses expect it to take me 
closer to him ? ” she said bitterly. 

“ Let us see if we cannot find the remedy between us. 
Tell me exactly what you feel and how it came about.” 

But Verena shrank back as if all her resolution had 
evaporated 

“ Oh, no ! I couldn’t — indeed I couldn’t — not to-day.” 

“ And why not to-day ? ” 

“ Because we are supposed to be going out to enjoy our- 
selves, are we not ? Why make me spoil all the pleasure 
of the day ? A doctor would not choose the moment of 
a picnic to stick in his probe to search for a bullet, would 
he ? ” 

“ No ! you are right, and I am a blundering fool. But 
when shall it be, Miss Shaw ? ” 

“ Oh, some day when we are quite alone, you and I, and 
I feel in the mood to be confidential. I would like to tell 
it to you in the gloaming, some evening, in that funny little 
churchyard, where I first met you. Do you know I shall 
always love that little churchyard, that gave me the only 
friend I have found in Llanty-gollen.” 

“Not the only friend. Miss Shaw,” suggested the parson. 
“ You forget my wife ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! I don’t ” replied Verena indifferently. “ She 
is a very nice woman, I daresay — I don’t suppose you 
would have married her if she had not been so — but I 
don’t care much for women, as a rule, and, Mr. Jones, it 
may sound like flattery, but is the sober truth, that I think 
it must be an easy task for any woman to be good, with you 
for a husband to advise and guide her.” 

Again the rebellious blood rushed to the parson’s brow, 
making his head and heart spin in unison. Again he felt 


PARSON JONES. 


130 

for a moment unable to give a concise answer to her 
remark, and was compelled to take refuge in a curtness 
which he was far from feeling. 

“ Oh, that's all nonsense,” he replied. “ My dear wife is 
a thousand times better and more sensible than 1 am. She 
has been the ballast of my life. I don’t know what I 
should have done without her.” 

“ Oh, no doubt ! ” said his companion, in a tone that 
made him wish he had not spoken at all. “ But here we 
are at the parsonage, Mr. Jones, and there is dear little 
Mollie coming down the drive to meet us.” 

“ One moment ! ” cried Parson Jones nervously, as he 
laid a detaining hand upon her arm ; “ whe7i will you meet 
me in the churchyard ?” 

“To-morrow, if you like,” she answered simply, and he 
echoed “ To-morrow, then,” just as impetuous Mollie flung 
herself into Verena’s arms, with a shout of welcome. 

After that the day passed pleasantly enough. There 
were no mishaps, as usually occur at picnics. None of the 
children fell into ditches, or were stung by bees ; and the 
simple meal, on unpacking the basket, was found to be 
intact, and sufficient for the enjoyment of all. Selina, who, 
notwithstanding the high character given her by her hus- 
band, did not add energy and activity to her many virtues, 
preferred to sit down by her mother-in-law, whilst the par- 
son and Verena Shaw wandered about in charge of the 
little ones and amused them as best they could. As the 
visitor was encumbered all the time by Mollie hanging on 
her arm, while Hughie and Owen clung in a most distress- 
ing manner (notwithstanding all their father’s remon- 
strances) to the other, there was no further opportunity for 
allusion to the subject of their conversation on their way 
from Heddlewick Manor, but the parson thought of it all 
the time. The innocent appointment Verena had made with 


PARSON JONES. 


131 

him in the churchyard for the following day delighted him 
beyond measure, and he could not get the remembrance of 
it out of his head. A bird seemed singing in his heart all . 
day, though he had no idea why he felt so happy. He was 
as gay and noisy as a boy — running races with his little 
sons, while Verena held the handkerchief for the start, and 
awarded the handsome prize of one penny to the winner. 
Of course, when the parson’s long legs — notwithstanding 
that he was heavily handicapped — came in first, the children 
quite thought he would have handed over the copper to 
them, and were somewhat disappointed when he declared it 
had been fairly won, and he should keep it for himself. And 
then they all played the good old game of “ I spy,” and 
in the course of it Verena Shaw and the parson found 
themselves together behind a large chestnut tree. 

“You have made me so happy ! !” he said. 

“ How ? ” demanded the girl, with wide-opened eyes. 

“ By promising me your confidence. It is what I have 
been longing to gain ever since I first knew you. If I can 
be the means of helping you to find a cure for your ills, I 
shall be the happiest man alive.” 

Verena stared at this unnecessarily fervent avowal, but 
laid it down to his ardent charity for all man and woman 
kind. 

“ You will be punctual,” he said, “ my parish duties will 
take me there about five o’clock, and after that I shall have 
an hour’s leisure and be able to have a long talk with 
you.” 

“I will be punctual,” answered Verena; “lam rather 
famous for my punctuality, but you must promise not to be 
angry with me, if you find my courage has deserted me at 
the last moment, for I feel a terrible coward when I think 
of making you my father-confessor.” 

“ I don’t think I could be angry with you under any cir- 


132 


PARSON- JONES. 


cumstances, Miss Shaw, but I shall be very much disap- 
pointed if you withdraw your promise to confide in me. I 
shall begin to fear that you do not really regard me as a 
friend.” 

“ Believe anything but that, for indeed I do, or I would 
never have consented to speak to you of my trouble at all,” 
the girl replied ; and at that moment little Owen ran up 
with a loud whoop, and they were obliged to run as fast as 
they could to gain their winning post before he caught 
them. 


IX. 

All that evening, after Verena Shaw had returned to the 
manor and the children were put to bed, Parson Jones sat 
and ruminated on the possible revelations of the morrow. 
That the girl had some serious trouble to contend with he 
had long seen, for every shade that passed over her face 
revealed the fact. And all the more so, because her behav- 
ior, when with his little children, proved that melancholy 
was a foreign attribute of her nature. That her unhappi- 
ness had something to do with religion he never doubted ; 
but what could she tell him on that subject that he did not 
already know? She had said to his face that she believed 
in no hereafter : that awful misgiving must of itself be suf- 
ficient to mar anyone’s happiness. But it did not appear 
to do so to Miss Shaw’s, for she had said at the same time 
•that she loved the idea, and longed to lie down to sleep and 
forgetfulness forever. What could she have to forget — 
this young and innocent looking creature ? It was impos- 
sible that Mrs. Jefferson’s cruel surmise could have any 
truth in it, and that that young heart could have conceived 
any real wickedness, and yet Verena laugh and play so 


PARSON JONES. 


133 


lightly with his babies. No ! he would not believe it ! 
Her trouble, whatever it might be, either grew out of a 
very tender conscience, or it arose from the wrongdoing of 
others. He was sitting in his old leather armchair, smok- 
ing the calumet of peace after the labors of the day, for the 
honest fellow loved his pipe above all other pleasures, and 
could not understand why he should not indulge in this 
innocent luxury as well as every laborer in his parish. His 
old mother was sitting beside him, employed with her 
eternal darning, and Selina, having seen her chicks safely 
into bed, was moving about the parlor, putting a book back 
into the case here, and arranging the contents of a table 
there, and generally making the others feel fidgety. Why 
didn’t Lina take a little more trouble about her dress and 
the way she arranged her hair, thought the parson dreamily, 
as he watched her making the tour of the room, with her 
thick waist and untidy chevelure, and a red and heated 
face. It must be so easy for women to keep themselves 
nice and neat, he pondered. How trim and perfectly 
arranged was everything that Miss Shaw wore ! She had 
been dressed as simply as a school-girl at the picnic that 
afternoon, and yet had looked like a young queen. Her 
plain white frock had fitted her slender shape so closely, 
her slight waist had been defined by a black band, and her 
straw hat, though of the commonest shape and description, 
with a piece of muslin twisted round it to keep off the heat 
of the sun, had seemed to be the most elegant head-dress 
that art could devise. True, that Verena Shaw was only 
nineteen and Lina was thirty, and had borne a family ; but 
he could not remember that she had ever been different even 
in the days of their courtship. She had always been what 
her friends called, “ a fine young woman,” but no one had 
ever said how graceful she was, or elegant or refined. 
Parson Jones could not understand why such thoughts 


134 


PARSON JONES. 


should come into his head just now. They had never done 
so before, and Lina and he had been married for twelve 
years. He had never given a thought to her figure or her 
appearance generally in the whole course of their married 
life. He had been content to take her as she was, and he 
was puzzled to imagine what had put the idea in his mind 
now. He was a fool ! — so he decided — a married woman 
could not be expected to look as slender and well set-up as 
a girl. It was absurd to expect it, and besides he should 
not know his Lina if she began to worry about those sorts 
of trifles. She had much more important duties to think 
of, with all the care she took of their dear little children 
and the attention she paid his good old mother. So he 
dismissed the subject from his mind (or he believed he did 
so) and addressed Mrs. Jones instead. 

“Well! mother,” he commenced, “and how did you 
enjoy the picnic ? I’m tired enough, I know, and I expect 
Miss Shaw is so too, from the way those rascals of boys 
made her run. She’s just the figure for running though, 
isn’t she ? So slim and well set-up ! I bet she’d take a lot 
of beating. She left me about a mile behind.” 

“ She is a very nice, ladylike-looking girl, certainly,” 
acquiesced his mother, “but I don’t know what Mrs. Jef- 
ferson would have said had she seen her racing with you 
to-day. It isn’t quite the thing for a minister to run races 
with a young lady, I think, and in so open a place too. 
I hope nobody saw you ! It w’ould be very disagreeable 
if Mrs. Babbleton, or dear Susan Taylor, should have been 
passing by and think that you were too frivolous, or light- 
minded, for one of the Lord’s servants.” 

“ My dear mother ! do you really suppose that I permit 
my conduct to be regulated by what my parishioners say or 
think ? If I considered it right to run races all round the 
parish, I should do it. If I am the shepherd of the flock, 


PARSON JONES. 135 

surely it is the duty of my sheep to follow my example and 
not expect me to follow theirs.” 

“ Certainly, my son, and I am far from upholding anyone 
who should dare to question anything you do, only there is 
the bishop to be considered, you know, and you would be 
very much annoyed if any tales were carried to Dr. Garley.” 

But this allusion sent David Jones’ thoughts back to 
Ernest Solun, and the long talk he had had with him. 

“ I wonder where Mr. Solun is now,” he said, “and how 
far he is on his road to Jerusalem ! Mother ! wouldn’t 
you like to travel a little afield and see some of the seven 
wonders of the world ? ” 

“ At my age, David ? ” exclaimed the old lady, “ why, 
what are you dreaming of ? No! my dear, whatever I might 
like, I shall never leave Llanty-gollen again, until I lie down 
to rest forever in your little churchyard.” 

“ Don’t talk of that, mother. It will be quite bad 
enough when it comes. But in these days, when all travel- 
ing is made so easy, I don’t see why you should not move 
about till the last one of your life.” 

“ What has put such a strange idea into your head, my 
son ? ” said Mary Jones, as she regarded the parson through 
her spectacles, “ you know I would never stir without you, 
and how could you leave your parish and the sacred charge 
of your dear parishioners.” 

“ Oh, no ! of course not ! ” said the parson, with an ill- 
suppressed sigh. “ It was only a little dream, but a very 
pleasant one. I should love to change these scenes occa- 
sionally, if it were ‘possible ! Mother,” he continued in a 
mysterious whisper, “has Lina any stays on?” 

“ What? my dear.” 

“ Does not my wife wear stays like other women ? She 
seems to me to look always as if she were about to fall to 
pieces.” 


136 


PARSON JONES. 


“ My dear ! what an extraordinary question ! " responded 
the old lady, not displeased to have a sly shot at Selina. 
“ You ought to know quite as well as I. Well, Selina is 
not one of those trim figures that look well in everything, 
as some women do. I remember your dear father saying of 
me that, whether I had been making a pudding, or sweeping 
a floor, I always looked as if I had just come out of a band- 
box ! But then I had a very good figure in those days,” 
continued Mary Jones, drawing herself up, “and our dear 
Selina has not. Has she stays on ? Oh, yes ! I think so, 
but I am afraid they are very old ones. And then they are 
apt to get out of shape, David.” 

The parson drew his breath quickly. 

“ Of course ! My poor dear wife ! How selfish of me 
to have fogotten how little money she has to spend on her- 
self. Mother, she made a bad bargain when she cast in 
her lot with mine, didn’t she ? ” 

Mary Jones looked horrified. 

“ A bad bargain^ to be your wife and the mother of these 
blessed children ? Why, David ! you are too humble, 
though it is most becoming in one of the Lord’s ministers. 
I can tell you that Selina does not think so. She is only 
too proud of the position to which you have raised her. 
And if she is a little awkward and uncouth at times, I am 
sure you don’t mind it, and would never have her dressed 
up to her eyes, like some women. It would not be becom- 
ing for a minister’s wife.” 

“ No, no ! of course not. But I wish I had a little more 
money to give her to spend upon her dress all the same. 
All young women like to be neat and pretty.” 

But his mother did not agree with his views on this sub- 
ject at all. 

. “ What does it signify for a minister’s help-meet ? ” she 
questioned. “All the Lord requires of her, is to do her 


PARSON JONES. I37 

duty toward her husband and children, and help them on 
the road to heaven.” 

Notwithstanding which, Parson Jones managed to find 
half a sovereign somewhere that evening, and slip it into 
Lina’s hand, with the whisper, “You’ve been kept very 
short of pocket money lately, my dear, but it has not been 
my fault. These terrible little plagues of ours empty one’s 
purse to the very bottom. But take this and buy yourself 
something pretty with it — anything you fancy or want 
most, and I must try and manage to let you have a little 
more in future.” 

The joy in Selina’s face — the blush upon her cheek, would 
have been sufficient reward for anyone. 

“ For me ? ” she exclaimed. “ O David ; how very good 
of you ! But you want many more things than I do, dear. 
Your white neckcloths are getting so worn, and your great- 
coat wants a new collar. Grandmamma was saying only 
yesterday, as we were looking over the winter things, that 
you could not w'ear it in its present condition through 
another season. It is so much more important that you 
should look decent than I, you know, dearest,” she ended 
coaxingly. 

“Not at all,” said the parson decidedly, though he rather 
strove to avoid the caress which his wife was evidently 
bent on giving him in return for his little gift, “ I like you 
to do me credit, and only wish I could give you as much 
money as you could spend. But don’t tell grandmamma,” 
he went on presently ; “ she is rather apt to consider the 
least thing as extravagance, and I like to have a little secret 
between ourselves occasionally.” 

He stooped and kissed her on the cheek as he spoke, 
and Selina blushed again with the pleasure of having a 
secret with her husband. Yet, as the parson turned away 
to seek his armchair once more, he sighed. 


138 


PARSON JONES. 


On the following afternoon, when his parish rounds were 
completed, he turned his steps in the direction of the little 
churchyard to keep his appointment with Verena Shaw. 
How wearisome his parochial visits had seemed that day ! 
They were never very cheerful at their best, spent as they 
were in listening to accounts of the old women’s ailments 
and the men’s complaints of hard times and the injustice of 
their employers. It was not pleasant to be entreated to 
examine old Grannie Watson’s festered toe, or to be shown 
sore legs and open abscesses, and feel that it would be 
resented as an injury and an insult if he displayed the least 
backwardness in accepting the fearful invitations. Often 
and often had the poor parson returned from his visitations, 
sick at heart in both senses, but positively afraid to betray 
what he felt to his mother and his wife, for fear they should 
hold up their hands in horror at him for a renegade. And 
that particular afternoon he thought the descriptions of 
complaints would never cease and let him escape to a purer 
atmosphere. He was thinking all the time that he was 
reading (perhaps for the fiftieth time) the last letter which 
poor drowned Fred Pennell had written to his mother, 
while Mrs. Pennell groaned at exactly the same places, and 
said “ deary me ! ” with a corner of her apron held up to 
her eye, how sweetly the wild thyme must be smelling in 
the heat of the sun, and how lovely it would be to lie 
stretched on the grass and listen to what his young friend 
might have to say to him. That sweet, tender conscience ! 
How, in all probability, it had brooded over and magnified 
some venial error, until it had assumed the proportions of a 
crime. Parson Jones knew how often that occurred with 
the young. He could remember that once, during his own 
boyhood, he had gathered some fruit from a tree, the 
boughs of which hung over the wall of a friend’s orchard, 
and were common property. His friend had often invited 


PARSON JONES. 


139 


him to take as much of his fruit as he liked, but this fact 
had no power to stay the awful remorse that had succeeded 
the act. He had plucked the fruit without the knowledge 
or sanction of his friend, and to a boy so strictly brought 
up as David Jones, with hell-fire waved before his 
mental vision on every possible occasion, the childish fault 
was magnified into a sin. He bore his terrible secret 
about with him for more than a month, not daring to con- 
fess it to his parents, lest they should disown him ever- 
more, and he suffered real and poignant anguish during 
the time of concealment, as many other children have done 
before him. Then, on receiving some unexpected indulg- 
ence from his doting parents — some much longed for gift 
which he felt himself unworthy to receive, a guinea pig, 
perhaps, or a pair of white mice — the tender conscience 
pricked him to such an extent that David could bear his 
load of sin no longer, and amid floods of tears he made 
his terrible confession. His father and mother were wise 
enough not to make light of his state of mind. They only 
urged him at once to tell everything to their friend, and when 
he returned home again, eased of his awful burden, they 
pointed out to him how much misery he might have saved 
himself if he had confessed his fault as soon as committed. 
The pain had not lasted long, but the parson had never 
forgotten it, and his kind eyes grew moist when he thought 
that poor Verena might be undergoing the same kind of 
torture now. He was not surprised at her reluctance to 
tell him what was in her mind. He could recall his own 
fear and what it cost him to speak. If he felt so toward 
parents who had never given him a cross look in his life, 
how much more must this poor girl shrink from confiding 
her trouble to a stranger ? At length his visitations were 
concluded. He had sympathized with the last complaint, 
had examined and pronounced on the progress of the last 


140 


PA SON JONES. 


sore. He was free to keep his appointment with Verena 
Shaw. And then a strange thing happened. For the first 
time he (who had been longing all day for this moment to 
arrive) felt reluctant to meet his penitent, and began to 
question whether it really was his business to interfere, and 
if a woman like his wife, or mother, would not have been a 
far more suitable person for the girl to place her confidence 
in. Parson Jones had never been brought in personal con- 
tact with the High Church ritual. He had heard and read 
of it, of course, but he had never sympathized with a move- 
ment which preached the strictest obedience to its dis- 
ciples, and openly rebelled itself. That he stood in the 
position of a father-confessor to Verena Shaw, therefore, 
did not enter his head, though she had laughingly alluded 
to the idea herself. No ! he was only acting as one friend 
to another, and all he could do in return was to counsel 
and advise her. He felt very nervous and very unlike him- 
self as he unlatched the little wicket gate that led to the 
churchyard, and entered the lonely little acre of God. 
Verena was already there, seated reading on a flat tomb- 
stone, and she looked up and smiled and nodded as she 
caught sight of her clerical friend. Parson Jones, on the 
contrary, was not nearly so much at his ease, and went very 
slowly over the grass to meet her. 

‘‘ I am more than punctual, you see ! ” she cried, “ but I 
only promised to meet you here. I don’t think I shall be able 
to talk of anything more interesting than my book, or your 
parishioners. I warned you I am a coward, and can never 
be sure of myself in the moment of action.” 

“Then let us talk of nothing but what you like best,” 
said the parson, as he seated himself on the slab of stone 
which she occupied. “What book is that you are 
reading ? ” 

“ One of which I am afraid you would not approve, so 


PARSON JONES. 


141 

please don’t look at it,” replied the girl, as she slid a 
volume of Kant’s philosophy behind her. 

“ And why do you read it, if you think I should not 
approve of it ? ” asked Parson Jones ; and then, alarmed at 
his own temerity, he added, “not, of course, because of my 
disapproval — that would be of- little consequence — but 
because your words show that your own heart knows it is 
not a good book for you to read.” 

“ Well, I am not quite prepared to confess that, Mr. 
Jones,” she replied, “ Kant is not an author that a clergy- 
man would exactly recommend to his parishioners, perhaps, 
but then parsons are obliged to frown at so many things 
that are not really wrong and that they would dearly like 
to do themselves, if only that terrible Mrs. Grundy would 
permit them. Isn’t that true ? Would not many clergy- 
men love to dance, and skate, and ride to hounds, and they 
^ dare not do such things for fear of creating a scandal? 
But if they are wrong for a parson, why are they not 
wrong for his parishioners? If you put the question, you 
are told it is not sinful, but they consider it better to 
refrain, for fear of seeming unclerical. Oh, I would rather 

be anything No ! I mustn’t say that ! It would be 

rude.” 

“Please speak out your mind. Miss Shaw. Is it not for 
the purpose of hearing it that I am here to-day ? What 
were you going to say ? ” 

“ That I would rather be anything than a clergyman.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because if I refrained from practices that I saw no 
cause to condemn in my people, I should feel like a coward 
or a hypocrite. Why should you not do all innocent 
things that other people do? You are only men after all, 
at least that is what my dear mother used to say, and 
instead of being afraid of doing those things which you 


142 


PARSON JONES. 


license in your pupils, you ought, on the contrary, to 
prove to them that they are innocent by showing that you 
can practice them and yet remain virtuous.” 

“ Your mother was evidently a very sensible woman. 
Miss Shaw. But you would draw the line at Kant and 
authors of his principles, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Mother let me read everything. She used to say 
there was no virtue in avoiding a danger that we had 
never faced.” 

‘‘ True, but this danger has, I am afraid, proved too much 
for you ! Believe me, dear child, there is sometimes more 
bravery displayed in running away than in staying to face 
the foe. Don’t you think that that book, and others like it, 
have much to do with your present unhappy state of 
mind ? ” 

Verena raised her beautiful dark eyes and looked the 
parson full in the face. They glowed upon him like two 
suns, and their fire seemed to enter his very soul. He 
shrunk and shivered before them. He had never been 
looked at in such a way by any woman before. And yet 
Verena’s gaze was a perfectly modest one. Her eyes 
were the startled orbs of a child that stares, because it is 
innocent of wrong. But it had the same effect as if she 
had meant it to be dangerous. Parson Jones turned 
slightly from her and looked the other way. 

“ Oh, no ! indeed you are mistaken,” she said, shaking her 
head ; “ the German philosophy may have had something 
to do with my belief, but nothing with the cause of my 
trouble. Why, this is what has helped me, more than any- 
thing else, to think that there must come an end to all 
misery some day.” 

“ That is true enough, my dear young friend, but not by 
annihilation. The doctrine insults God as much as our- 
selves. Are we such miserably unimportant atoms, that 


PARSON JONES. 


143 


the Almighty should create us simply to live, and to suffer, 
and to die ? What good should we do him by such a 
course ? Why should he take the trouble to create us at 
all? For what purpose, with what intent? Such theories 
make out all creation to be childs’-play, and God a spirit, 
who makes things for the mere purpose of pulling them to 
pieces again — to benefit neither him nor ourselves. It seems 
such a foolish doctrine to me, and it was promulgated and 
is held to this day only by men who are too much afraid 
of what they will meet in the future to be able to afford to 
believe in it. But that has nothing to do with you, dear 
Miss Shaw.” 

“ I hope not. Still, as I have told you before, Mr. Jones, 
I have no desire to live beyond this world, and should be 
very thankful to leave it as soon as possible.” 

And I repeat, that you are far too young to wish for 
death, and that for all our trouble God holds out a certain 
cure.” 

Verena shrugged her pretty shoulders impatiently. 

“ I wonder if there is anyone in this world who will ever 
let a body know as much about themselves, as they do ? ” 

“ About themselves perhaps — yes ! ” replied David Jones, 
“ but not about a God whom they deny, by deed if not by 
word, to be able to heal their every disease.” 

“Then why has he not healed mine?” cried Verena 
impetuously ; “ why has he left me broken-hearted like this 
for a whole year, if he has the power to cure a pain which 
is driving me out of my mind ? Oh, Mr. Jones,” she con- 
tinued, turning suddenly to where he sat beside her and 
grasping his hand, “ I know you have guessed my secret. 
You have told me so ! I know you must be aware that all 
this unnatural misery in a young girl as I am, can be caused 
by only one thing— that it is love — wild, untempered love 
that is breaking my heart — and worst of all, love for a man 


144 


PARSON- JONES. 


who does not care for me — who has deserted me now for 
twelve long months, and left me without a sign even that he 
exists. Now, you have heard the worst. Our love was pure 
and honorable so long as it lasted. But he has ceased to 
love me, and I am wretched — wretched. I would like to 
take my life if I am never to see him again : I would give up 
all hopes of my salvation (if there is such a thing in pros- 
pect for me) only to see him as he was, for one short 
hour.” 

“ Hush ! hush ! Verena,” articulated the parson quickly ; 

don’t say such things : you hurt me ! ” 

He did indeed look hurt. His broad brow was puckered 
into a thousand wrinkles — his lips were tightly pressed 
together — his eyes had the wild imploring look of some tor- 
tured animal. Whom was the man invoking as he turned 
those glazed eyes upward ? Someone who apparently 
heard the silent petition ; for the next moment he had re- 
gained command over himself and spoke to his young com- 
panion. 

“ I want to hear all this — all ! But not here. Let us go 
into the church together. I have the key. The Almighty 
will send us inspiration there." 

He led the way into the little building, in a silence that 
awed Verena ; and, having entered it, closed the door behind 
them, and bowed his head for a few moments in prayer. 
When he had finished, he took the girl’s hand and led her 
to the tiny vestry, and bade her seat herself upon a chair as 
he did. But Verena flung herself upon her knees upon the 
floor instead, and tried to hide her face upon his crossed 
hands. David Jones attempted to put them away, but she 
would not let him. 

“ No ! no ! my dear friend — my only friend, let me tell 
you all about it here — then I shall feel as if you were really 
my father-confessor, and I your most unhappy penitent. 


PARSON- JONES. 145 

But don’t look so hurt about it, for indeed and indeed, I 
have done nothing wrong.” 

“ I never supposed for a minute that you had done any- 
thing wrong, Verena,” he answered in a low voice. 

“ It happened just like this,” went on the girl, sobbing. 
“ Mother and I lived at Cheltenham, you know, which is 
a very gay place, with always something going on, in the 
shape of balls and parties; and, as mother was' a great in- 
valid and never left her sofa, she used to confide me to the 
care of a friend to take me about, and I had pretty well 
my own way in everything. Well, it was at one of these 
assemblies that I first met this man — my lover, whom I was 
afterward engaged to — Herbert Bryanston. He was noth- 
ing particular — I believe he was very rich, or expected to 
become so — and was just a gentleman living at large in 
Cheltenham. He drove beautiful horses, and indulged in 
every sort of luxury, and had all the appearance of being 
a wealthy man. Mother liked him almost as much as I 
did, and gave her full consent to our marriage. I think 
she saw, dear mother, that before long I should be in the 
world without her, and was glad that I should have a pro- 
tector, in case my father wished to claim me. That was 
always my poor mother’s dread — that I should be obliged, 
or persuaded, to go and live with my father ; but you see 
she need have had no fear on that account.” 

“ And did this scoundrel — I mean did this man have the 
baseness to desert you as soon as your mother died ? ” 
demanded the parson huskily. 

“ Oh, no ! it all happened before, and sometimes I fancy 
it hastened her death. You see, Mr. Jones, when Bertie 
proposed to me, it become necessary for my mother to tell 
him plainly who I was ; for, after her separation from my 
father, she would not even use his name, but retook her 
maiden one, so we always passed by the name of Travers, 


146 


PARSON JONES. 


We both fancied that Bertie looked rather strange while 
mother was telling him our story, but we did not think 
much of it, until he left me without a word of explanation. 
He had told us he was an orphan and his own master, but 
generally lived with a god-father, from whom he had great 
expectations. The very day after my mother had given 
him this explanation, and when I was in a fever of happi- 
ness, Bertie announced his intention of joining his god- 
father, who was in Paris for the time being, and he said 
goocBby to me. — Oh, that happy, happy — miserable part- 
ing is in my mind forever — and he went, and I have never 
seen or heard from him since." 

“You have received no explanation?" exclaimed the 
parson. 

“Not a line ; not a word ; not a single sign." 

“ But you wrote, or your mother, surely." 

“ Where were we to write ? " asked the girl, raising her 
tear-stained face to his ; “ Bertie had no settled home. He 
was always staying about with people. Besides — besides — 
he could have written to me if he had chosen, and I am not 
the sort of girl, Mr. Jones, to ask a man to come back to 
me. And so I must bear it as best 1 may till I die. But, 
oh ! " cried Verena suddenly, in a sharp tone that too truly 
betrayed her heart’s anguish. Oh, Mr. Jones, I love him 
so — I love hivi so I I feel sometimes as if I must die with 
the intolerable longing to see him again, if only for a 
moment, just to ask him if he still loves me, and then to 
die — die — and forget it all forever." 

She cast her beautiful head, with its wreath of dusky 
hair, in total abandonment upon the parson’s knee, and 
David Jones had to bear it and be silent. After a few 
minutes, he said in a perfectly collected voice : 

“ I am very glad you have told me the cause of your 
trouble, Miss Shaw, and 1 am sure I need not assure you 


PARSON JONES. 


147 


how sacredly your confidence shall be respected. But I 
see no reason to despair in the case. Time, which works 
such wonders, is quite capable of bringing your lover back 
to your feet. There may be several reasons, which I can- 
not particularize at this moment, for his apparent neglect. 
Give me time to think the matter over, and I believe I can 
promise that your suspense respecting him shall at 
least be satisfied. What you could not do for yourself, 
others may do for you ; and no man, if living, can hide him- 
self for long, if people only know the right way to set about 
finding him.” 

The mere idea made Verena smile. 

“ I knew you would be my friend — I knew that, as soon 
as I found courage to tell you the truth, you would find, or 
suggest the remedy for me. Oh, Mr. Jones, I thank you — 
I love you for the hope you have given me to-day.” 

She bent her head and pressed her lips in all innocence 
upon his brown toil-hardened hand, and he shivered beneath 
the touch of her mouth and was silent. Then he said : 

“ Miss Shaw ! you have told me everything, have you 
not ? ” 

“ Everything, dear Mr. Jones.” 

“ Then would it not be better for you to return to the 
manor, lest Mrs. Jefferson should miss you ? It is nearly 
six o’clock.” 

“ And you ? ” 

“ I will remain here for a little while, and — and — pray 
for you.” Verena pressed her lips once more upon the 
hand which she regarded as that of her savior ; and, with- 
out another word, crept out of the little church. 

And as soon as he found he was alone, Parson Jones 
laid his head down upon the place where she had knelt, 
and burst into a flood of tears. 


148 


PARSON JONES. 


X. 

They were tears such as he had never shed in the whole 
course of his thirty-fiv^ years of life before — not even when 
his good old father died — not even when his favorite little 
Mollie had been given over with scarlet fever, and he had 
paced his study floor for a day and a night, expecting each 
messenger to bring the tidings of her death — yes ! and 
uot even when his mother was so ill with pneumonia that 
two doctors were summoned by the village medico from 
the nearest town. For, on those sad occasions, his tears, 
though they scorched his eyes and brain, had been without 
shame or remorse. But these which he shed for Verena 
Shaw were like self-accusing devils, sent to torture him 
with a foretaste of hell. He saw now, with eyes made clear 
by disappointment, what his interest in this girl amounted 
to — he recognized by the force of feeling within him what 
love was, and passion, and longing, and desire, and all the 
tribe of sensations which are given to man to make his 
misery and his delight — his curse or his salvation. He 
loved Verena Shaw! ! ! This was the terrible discovery 
that overwhelmed him. He loved Verena Shaw — he., the 
son of Mary Jones — the husband of Selina — the father of 
Mollie, and Owen, and Lina, and Hugh ! ! He loved this 
girl whom he had only known for the space of a month 
or two, with all his soul, and strength, and might — with all 
the full-grown, fresh, and mighty passion of a man who has 
never loved in his life before. As he realized the fact and 
all it meant for him, in loss, and longing, and remorse. 
Parson Jones cast himself headlong on the vestry floor 
and groaned aloud in the anguish of his soul. No ! he 
had never loved before — the truth was patent to him 
now. The mild affection which nature and his mother’s 


PARSON JONES. 149 

wishes had lighted in his breast, for poor Selina, was noth- 
i*ig — a glow-worm to an electric light beside the unhallowed 
feeling that possessed him now. How he loved Verena ! ! 
how he loved her ! ! how he wished that it might be his lot 
only to serve her as a servant, so that he might keep her in 
his sight for always ! That he might lie at her feet like a 
slave and kiss the dust from them as she passed, though 
she should never lift her lovely eyes to look upon him where 
he lay. But oh, the sin and horror of it — he was cursed 
for evermore — he had earned a well-merited hell, and 
should be cast into its raging fires without hope or room 
for repentance. Parson Jones’ conviction of this was as 
firm now as when a lad he had plucked his neighbor’s 
fruit and eaten it. And the unutterable misery of carrying 
this terrible burden — this unhallowed secret with him to the 
grave ; for he could never rid himself of it by confession, 
as he had eased his conscience of his boyhood’s fault. He 
could tell no kind father or mother that he had sinned 
in so awful a manner — he would not dare hint at such a 
thing to his poor, injured wife, whom he had kept so inno- 
cent of all evil. If they even dreamed that he could have 
forgotten God and the sacred duty he owed to him and 
them, it would break the hearts of both these poor women 
who believed and trusted in him. No ! he must bear it 
by himself — he could not expiate it — he could not do away 
with it — he could only suffer. Oh, the soft, sweet lines of 
her face, the grace of her pliant figure, the bright intelli- 
gence which lighted up her features, the glowing, lovely 
blush with which she told her poor little story of disap- 
pointment, the flash of her eyes when she spoke of her 
lover and her love for him ! David Jones felt that he 
would give every hope of happiness he held for this world or 
the next to see her eyes light up like that for him, to feel her 
arms around his neck, to breathe her breath ; but, God in 


PARSON JONES. 


150 

heaven ! what was he thinking of ? What was he saying ? 
He must be going out of his senses ; he was determined 
to make himself tenfold more the child of hell than he was 
already ! The wretched man sank down upon his knees as 
these terrible thoughts passed through his brain, and sobbed 
aloud in his agony. He could not pray ! he felt too un- 
worthy ! he was conscious that a prayer to Almighty God 
to take away the delicious pain he was experiencing, to 
make him forget Verena ; to become indifferent to her— to 
hate her — would simply be a mockery which the Creator 
would see through and despise him for. The only thing 
of which he felt himself capable, was to lie at the Mercy 
Seat, weeping those human tears, which God designed for our 
relief and surely never would condemn — trying hard to pray 
an honest prayer which resolved itself into groans for the 
awful discovery he had made, and blessings on Verena’s 
name. 

He never knew exactly how long he had lain in the little 
vestry of Llanty-gollen church, but the shades of night had 
fallen, as humiliated and ashamed he crept out of his hiding 
place and took his way slowly homeward. A bat wheeled 
round his head in airy circles, and a white night moth 
brushed up against his face, as he passed slowly and almost 
solemnly down the lane that led to the parsonage. Midway 
between the church and his home, poor David Jones stopped 
at a wayside brook and, stooping down, dipped his hand- 
kerchief in the water and pressed it against his inflamed 
and burning eyes. What would his mother say, bethought, 
if she caught sight of those tell-tale eyes, which had not 
shed tears for so long? What excuse could he give her 
and Lina for the condition of them ? A lie \ps foreign to 
the parson’s nature. He might be forced, for the sake of 
those dear to him, to act one, but he would not speak one 
to save his life. This idea troubled him for some time. He 


PARSON JONES. 


even had thoughts of walking to the nearest town for the 
night and trusting to some chance to invent an excuse for 
his extraordinary behavior, when a wasp, going home after 
the day’s toil, buzzed in his face. In a moment the parson 
had imprisoned it lightly in his hand, and held it against 
his left eyelid. The insect stung it at once, and the lid 
swelled up to twice it’s size. The pain was excessive, but 
Parson Jones did not remove the wasp till both his hand 
and eyelid were severely stung. And then he opened his 
fingers, and the malicious little insect flew away with great 
satisfaction at having revenged itself upon its supposed 
enemy. But the poor parson felt grateful to it for the pain 
it had caused him. 

“At all events,” he thought, “ Lina and the dear mother 
will be unable to guess the cause of my swollen eyelids. 
Anything — anything — to keep this shameful secret from 
their pure and virtuous minds. Oh, my poor wife ! Oh, 
loveliest, sweetest Verena ! Oh, my God ! save me from 
these thoughts which will drag me down to hell ! And yet 
who could see her often and not love her, and I thought — 
I thought ” 

And here the unhappy man was overwhelmed by his grief 
again, and the hot tears commenced to trickle through the 
swollen lids, causing him the acutest agony. There was no 
need to tell a lie about either his eyelids or his prolonged 
absence, for as soon as Selina saw the plight he was in, she 
flew shrieking to her mother-in-law. 

“ Oh, grandmama, come to dear David, quick, do ! He has 
been so frightfully stung ! No wonder he didn’t come 
back to his tea. I wonder he got home at all. His eye is 
all closed up. He is blind. Oh, my dear husband, how 
did you manage it ? Where did it happen ? Was it one of 
Farmer Lewis’ bees, and are they swarming to-day ? How 
it must hurt you ? What shall I do — what shall I do ? ” 


PARSON JONES. 


152 

Then it was Mary Jones’ turn. 

“ My poor Davy ! However did the creature get time to 
sting you so badly ? Are you sure it’s only the lid, my 
dear ? Now, Selina, you’ll do your husband no good by 
looking at him. Run and fetch the blue bag, that’s the 
best thing possible for a wasp sting. Sit down, Davy, my 
dear, and let me look at it. Why, your eye is not to be 
seen ! It is a terrible sting ! What a mercy it wasn’t the 
eye itself ! Ah, that’s right, Selina ! Squeeze the blue on 
the lid gently, and it will soon take the swelling down. 
And I’ll get your tea, David, for you must be just famished 
with your long fasting.” 

Parson Jones slowly shook his head. 

“ Don’t trouble, mother,” he said. “ I don’t want any 
tea. Let me lie quiet here for a few minutes, and I dare- 
say I shall feel better. Thank you, Lina, that makes the 
pain far less. You are a good wife to me, my dear, and I 
am not deserving of yon, nor of my dear mother. But I’ll 
try, God helping me, to be better to you than I have been, 
for the future.” 

“ O Davy ! ” exclaimed Selina, with open eyes, “ How 
could you be better either to me or mother ? You’re talking 
nonsense. There isn’t a dearer husband in all the 
world.” 

“ Nor a more faithful one,” chimed in the old lady. I’m 
sure when I hear of the goings-on of such men as Captain 
Jefferson, and others I could mention, I can never thank 
the Lord enough, who has kept your footsteps, my son, 
lest you should fall.” 

The parson groaned and laid his head back on the pillow 
cushion of the sofa. 

“What a pity it should have happened to-night,” said 
Selina, “ for there’s a letter come for you, Davy, and you 
so seldom get a letter. It’s such a thick one, too, and with 


PARSON- JONES. 153 

such a funny stamp on it, I don't think it comes from Eng- 
land.” 

“ A letter ? ” replied her husband, slightly roused from 
his apathy by the news, and with a faint hope, notwithstand- 
ing the mention of the stamp, that it might be from her. 
“ Give it to me, Selina ; I shall be able to read it, I think, 
with the right eye.” 

“ Oh, leave it till to-morrow, dear ! It cannot be of 
much consequence, and I am so afraid it will inflame the 
left eye more. You cannot use one without the other, you 
know.” 

“ No ! I wish to have it. Give it to me at once. It may 
require immediate attention,” said the parson, as he sat up 
on the sofa and pushed the handkerchief they had placed 
over the injured lid impatiently away. Selina ran dutifully 
to bring it to him. It was a blue foreign envelope, and the 
postmark was Jerusalem. Nothing could have done Parson 
Jones more good at that moment. 

“ It is from Ernest Solun,” he exclaimed. “ I am glad 
to hear from him. I began to fear that he had almost 
forgotten me ! Fancy this little envelope having traveled 
all that way — from that blessed place — ah ! I am not 
worthy to touch it,” he continued, as he thrust it from him. 
“Jerusalem ! the seat of purity, and virtue, and innocence ! 
How far I am set from Jerusalem in every sense of the 
word.” 

His unusual mood alarmed the two women who watched 
him. 

“ My dear son,” said the old lady gently, “ I am afraid 
this unfortunate little accident has affected you more than 
you care, in your unselfishness, to confess to us. Had you 
not better go to bed ? Rest and sleep will do more than 
anything else to restore you ! These wasp stings are not 
to be trifled with. I remember, when your dear father and 


154 


PARSON JONES. 


I lived at Ponty-pool, a man dying from the effects of being 
stung. You must have suffered very much, and I think 
quiet will be the best thing for you.” 

“Yes! yes! mother, you are right,” he replied, “but 
not bed just yet. Let me lie quiet here for half an hour, 
and I will try and join you at supper time. Go ! dear 
Lina ; go with my mother and leave me to rest — rest — as 
she says.” 

The two women crept out of the room, but they would 
have been considerably surprised, and not a little shocked, 
could they have heard the despairing moan with which the 
unfortunate parson turned himself face downward, as soon 
as relieved of their presence. 

After he had lain thus fcff about half an hour, he raised 
himself and, with a supreme effort to shake off his cowardice, 
broke the seal of Ernest Solun’s letter, and tried to interest 
himself in its contents. It was dated from the hotel of 
“ Les Trois Bergers,” Jerusalem, and was jas cordial as the 
man who had written it. 

“ My Dear Friend [so it ran] : Will you envy me when 
you see this address ? will you long immediately to cut and 
from poor little Llanty-gollen, and that dreadful little place 
run — I was nearly writing ‘ barn,’ — they call a church there, 
and fly across the sea to where I am luxuriating on the 
plains of Jerusalem — walking through the Garden of Geth- 
semane and up the Mount of Olives — toiling up to Calvary 
— and never omitting to say a little prayer in my Master’s 
ear, beside the Holy Sepulcher where his blessed body was 
laid. I have even — now, don’t laugh at me ! — taken off 
my shoes and socks, and walked barefoot along the w^ay he 
is said to have trod, to try and fancy that I am following 
in his holy footsteps, I do more than fancy it. I can hear 
his steps beside me as I walk along. His voice is borne in 


PARSON JONES, 155 

upon my listening ear and I catch his breath, as he toils, 
weary and heavy laden with the sins of the world, by my 
side. All imagination ! I can hear you cry ! Well, my 
friend, if so, it is an imagination that makes me very happy 
and mindful of the woes of others. By the way that 
reminds me to ask how you are getting on, with that very 
lovely Miss Shaw, at Heddlewick ? Has she confessed all her 
little troubles to you yet, and have you directed her thoughts 
to the only cure for them ? I feel interested in that young 
girl ! That little present, which I told you I made my dear 
Lord, has not blunted all my natural feelings — perhaps he 
would not have cared to accept it at my hands if it had — 
and I shall be glad to hear that you have been successful in 
saving this very beautiful bit of creation for her Creator’s 
service and possession. I fancy somehow that you have 
done so or will eventually do this great work for him. I 
have prayed several times for both of you — that you might 
be successful, and she be brought to perfect peace. I 
have prayed for you in all sorts of places — on the top of 
Mount Pisgah, where I passed an entire night — and in the 
Garden of Gethsemane, where I take my books for hours 
together in the heat of the day — even in the Holy Sepul- 
cher itself — so you cannot complain that I have forgotten 
either of you. Perhaps you will wonder, my dear friend, 
that I should have cherished such an interest, amid these 
absorbing scenes, for two people of whom I have seen so 
little. I will tell you the reason. My feeling for that poor 
child. Miss Shaw, is only a minor one, supplemented on my 
major interest in yourself. Miss Shaw, though I wish her 
well, I could lose sight of without regret, but yotc I will 
never lose sight of, while I have the power to interchange 
my thoughts with yours. For I feel there is much more in 
you than in most men. I feel you are too good for your 
surroundings — that you were not born to be cramped up in 


156 PARSON JONES. 

a little insignificant village, where you see the same people 
every day, but should be as I am, one of the world’s 
workers, speaking your own ideas, thinking your own 
thoughts — without any rules or restrictions — without the 
intervention of the bishops to say how you shall preach, and 
what you shall preach, and where you shall preach. Your 
church should be the world — your congregation, the human 
race — and your preaching, just your own convictions and 
no set prayers composed for you by someone else. To do 
this, it is necessary to be as I am. I know you have taken 
responsibilities on yourself, which you dare not and must 
not shirk. But God’s work can be done in any situation 
and under any circumstances, but his workers must be 
freed men. Free to do what they think right without 
coercion. I should not say this to all clergymen, for some 
of them are not fit to be out of leading strings and would 
tumble down as soon as their swathing bands were removed. 
Let such do as they think fit. Let all men do as they 
think fit on so momentous a subject ! That has always 
been my motto. 

“ It has seemed strange to me, that that most glorious 
word ‘ free-thinker ’ should have been so perverted as to 
mean nothing but an atheist, the most anomalous of all 
God’s creatures. What can be more praiseworthy than a 
free-thinker, /, e., a man who has the courage of his opin- 
ions, who, believing one thing, will not say another, however 
much to his own interest it may be — who boldly says : 
* This is my creed and I will not deny it, nor change it, to 
the order of any church, or bishop, or archbishop in the 
world.’ The free-thinker’s thoughts and opinions may be 
wrong, but he is at least honest, which all preachers are 
not. Many a person would preach quite a different doctrine 
from his pulpit if he dared. Is that honest, my dear 
friend ? Is it God’s work, or the devil’s work, when we speak 


PARSON JONES. 


157 


with our lips what our hearts deny ? I am sure you are not 
such a man. I am sure you are as honest as you are kind, 
and that if ever the day should dawn when you feel that, 
while your people are crying to you for bread, you are feed- 
ing them with stones which they cannot digest, you will 
cast all considerations, except the glory of God, to the 
winds, and pour your heart out — never mind what it says — 
so long as it touches the hearts of your fellow-creatures 
and brings them home to their Father’s feet. Should that 
day ever shine, or rather let me say, when it shines, don’t for- 
get what I said to you, that you may count on my aid to 
carry out any plans that may come into your head. You 
know that, for a very good reason, I am not rich myself, but 
it does not follow that I do not know where to get help 
when it is in a good cause. So I ask — nay ! I entreat you 
to give me your confidence on all occasions, and have no 
fears for your little children or good wife. God, who made 
them and gave them to you, will forget them no more than 
he will yourself, and they shall be associated, as it is only 
right they should be, with any enterprise of yours. I have 
wondered more than once, since we parted, whether you 
have prepared a little present to lay, with a few tears, per- 
haps, upon the altar of our mutual Lord ? I have wondered, 
too, what it might be, whether it might not prove to be this 
very thing — i. e.^ the rending asunder of all your old-world 
prejudices, the blame you will probably incur, the grief of 
your relations, and the sneers of the world ! Never mind, 
dear friend ! whatever it may cost you, stick to what you 
believe to be right, though it should seem to be wrong. It 
seems right to you, it must be right, for you will be judged 
according to your intentions and not your deeds. Take 
your little gift, however unworthy and insignificant it may 
appear in your eyes, and give it to your Heavenly Father, 
and he will value it, as mothers treasure the worthless 


PARSON JONES. 


158 

trifles their little children have labored over for their sakes. 
And may God be with you ! I shall write to you again soon, 
and meanwhile I shall think of and pray for you. 

“ Ever your affectionate brother in Christ, 

“ Ernest Solun.” 

Parson Jones read this epistle through several times. It 
soothed and comforted him, although it placed his present 
feelings in a worse light than before. If pure-minded 
Ernest Solun could only read his heart, as he read it for 
himself, how shocked and horrified he would be ! His 
innocent remarks about Verena Shaw sent the parson’s 
thoughts back to the time when they had both first met her 
at her uncle’s house, and discussed Mrs. Jefferson’s ideas 
concerning her state of mind. How firmly he had believed 
then and after, that his sole interest in her lay in a right- 
eous indignation at her friendless condition, and a sincere 
desire to be the means of her finding more solid comfort 
than this world seemed likely to afford her. 

And it had ended in this ! Her beauty and winning ways 
had so grown upon him that he had sunk his sacred task of 
leading her young thoughts upward, in fixing his own 
thoughts upon her. He had permitted his eyes to rest on 
her perfections of face and figure, without an idea of the 
danger he was running, or a single fear that, while so near 
the flame of the candle, he might be burnt. But though 
David Jones bemoaned his folly and mourned his sin, and 
felt that he had done that which he should lament to his 
dying day, he had not the least hesitation in deciding what 
he ought to do. But one thing remained to him — to exter- 
minate his fatal passion for Verena Shaw, root and branch, 
and to go on with his life as it had been before he met her. 
He was a man, he said to himself — more, he was a minister, 
and he could do what other men had done before him, 


PARSON JONES. 


159 


trample down all unholy thoughts and lead the life to which 
God had called him. It was easy enough. It was only to 
avoid seeing or being left alone with the girl who had so 
much endangered his peace of mind, and Lina and his lit- 
tie ones would do the rest. Braced with such thoughts as 
these, Parson Jones read Ernest Solun’s letter over again, 
and then, summoning all his courage to his aid, he left the 
study and joined his wife and mother in the supper room. 


XI. 

The next morning. Parson Jones rose with the sun and 
set to work in his garden. The summer was waning now, 
and autumn brought many changes with it. “ Work,” he 
said inwardly, “ there is nothing like work to keep a man’s 
thoughts from dwelling on himself and life’s own petty 
troubles. I must get in another crop of potatoes before 
the month is out, and I thinx we ought to sell that second 
pig. We can never consume three at our own table before 
Christmas. And this afternoon I must certainly go over 
to Putley. It must be four or five weeks since I was there 
last. These scattered out-lying farms are most difficult to 
keep in touch with. However, Toby has had very little 
exercise lately, and mother will enjoy the drive.” And the 
parson went vigorously to work on the hard piece of ground 
which he was preparing for a late potato crop. 

“ Dear David’s eye seems much better this morning,” 
remarked young Mrs, Jones to her mother-in-law. He 
has forgotten all about it, I think. Do you see him out by 
the old pear tree, digging ? What a fine man he is, grand- 
mamma ! I don’t think there is another gentleman in 
Llanty-gollen who has his strength. He never seems tired.” 

“ David was always a fine fellow,” replied the old lady 


t6o PARSON' JONES. 

proudly. “ I can remember when he was born, that the 
doctor said I had made up for lost time, and he ought to be 
exhibited as a monster baby. He weighed thirteen pounds, 
my dear. Only think of that ! Nearly twice what any of 
yours have done. Poor old Auntie Sarah (that was my 
dear husband’s sister, you know, Selina), who had worked a 
cap for him with her own hands, was so disappointed that 
it would not go on his head that she cried. And, when 1 
laughed, she said I was ungrateful. But it wasn’t that, you 
know. It was just because I was so pleased to have so 
fine a baby. Ah ! that was a blessed day, Selina ! the 
most blessed of all my life you may depend on it.” 

“ And of mine too ! ” said gentle Lina, “ for it gave me 
my husband.” 

“ Lina ! ” shouted the parson from the potato patch. 
“ When will breakfast be ready ? I have an appointment 
with Farmer Tredgold at nine.” 

“ It is ready now, David dear !” replied his wife, appear- 
ing on the garden path with her children clinging round 
her, ‘‘and would have been sooner, only Mollie must needs 
boil father’s egg this morning, and broke it as she took it 
out of the saucepan.” 

“ But it was mine own egg, father ! ” interposed the 
child eagerly, “ it was my hen Betsy who laid it, and it is 

the very first, and I saved it for you, and now ” Mollie’s 

lip quivered over the remembrance of her disappointment 
and she looked very much as if she were going to cry. 
The parson caught her in his arms and kissed her. 

“ It was thine very own egg,” he said fondly, “ and thou 
hadst saved it for me ! Thank you, my little Mollie ! 
Father appreciates the gift and the self-sacrifice as much 
as if it had not been broken. The very next egg that 
Betsy is good enough to lay for us, father and you shall 
‘‘at together.” 


PARSON JONES. 


i6t 

“ Dada ! Dada ! ” quavered little Lina from her mother’s 
arms as she held her own toward her father. Parson Jones 
took her in his and kissed her more fervently, perhaps, than 
seemed necessary. 

“ Why ! what is this you have on baby ! ” he exclaimed, 
touching a frock much ornamented with scarlet braid. I 
never saw this before : you are a little swell ! Who made 
this pretty frock ? Mamma ? 

“ No ! David,” said Selina, “what time have I for fancy 
work ? That is a present from Verena. She did it all her- 
self. Isn’t it pretty ? ” 

“ And must have cost a lot of money, as well as taken a 
great deal of time,” said Mrs. Jones ; “ however. Miss Shaw 
is most kind to the children, I must say that for her.” 

Parson Jones suddenly put his baby down upon the grass 
at his feet. 

“Why, what's the matter, my dear?” exclaimed his 
mother; “is that nasty sting paining you again? Selina 
hoped it had ceased to do so.” 

“ No I Yes ! — a little — not much ” murmured her son 

in reply, as he hurried past them into the house, leaving the 
astonished Selina to pick up the still more astonished 
infant. 

“ Lam sure he is in pain,” she whispered to her mother, 
“ but you know what David is, he will never complain. 
There ! never mind, baby ! never mind. Father will take 
her by and by. Poor Dada got a nasty pain in his eye. 
The children must be very quiet and not make a noise.” 

And so the little family hurried after her into the break- 
fast room. The parson ate the meal in silence. All his 
previous energy seemed to have evaporated, and he said no 
more about the day’s plans. As soon as the breakfast was 
concluded, he rose from table, and, putting on his clerical 
suit, went forth to keep his appointment with Farmer Tred- 


i 62 


PARSON JONES. 


gold. But on the way he reasoned with himself. Was 
this the victory he was pledged to win? If he was to 
allow himself to be upset by a piece of cloth that had left 
her hand, he must be weak indeed. So he returned home, 
not only prepared to admire the baby’s frock over again, 
but to take it in his hands and pass his huge fingers over 
the embroidery, which hers had passed over so often, while 
he asked little unnecessary particulars as to how it was 
done, and how long it took doing, the while he trembled 
like an aspen leaf to hear her name and actions discussed 
and praised. After dinner, he said he must drive to Putley 
and try to find a market for his second pig, and would take 
his mother with him. This was one of old Mrs. Jones’ 
triumphant days. She bridled at the invitation like a girl 
who had been asked to take a drive with her lover, and 
went upstairs to dress herself for the important occasion 
with the greatest care and pride. Poor Selina was never 
asked nor expected to go on these expeditions. It was an 
understood thing that they were the right of grandmamma, 
and it was considered quite a condescension if, as on these 
occasions, she proposed to let little Mollie sit down at her 
feet at the bottom of the chaise. 

She was standing at the parsonage door, all ready pre- 
pared for starting, with her new lavender ribbons fluttering 
in the light summer breeze, and the parson was superin- 
tending the rough efforts of Tom, the stable help, to harness 
Toby into the pony chaise, when Owen came rushing into 
his father’s presence with a note in his hand. 

“A note from Heddlewick, father, and Sam the groom 
brought it, and it’s from Verena, and he’s to wait for an 
answer,” he cried, as he waved it in the air. His father’s 
brown complexion deepened to the darkest crimson as he 
bent hastily over Toby’s girths. 

‘‘Take it to your mother, my boy! Take it to your 


PARSON JONES. 


163 


mother ! Can’t you see I’m busy ? How do you suppose 
I can answer notes when I’m just going out ? Run away, 
do, and tell your mamma to answer the note.” 

Owen looked astonished at his father’s manner. The 
parson’s children had hardly ever received an irritable 
answer from him in their lives. 

“ But it was mamma who sent me to you,” he faltered ; 
“ she said she couldn’t answer it without asking you, father, 
because Verena says if you will be at home she will come 
in to tea this evening, because she wants to speak to you.” 

“ No ! I shall not be at home. Tell mamma so, Owen. 
I am going a long way out — miles and miles — I shall be 
late. She is to tell Miss Shaw it will be of no use her 
coming, for I can’t see her.” 

“ But, Davy dear ! ” exclaimed Selina, who had followed 
her boy to hear her husband’s decision, “ if you are likely 
to be so late, what about grandmamma and Mollie ? Grand- 
mamma has a little cold, you know, and it won’t do for her 
to be out in the night air, and the child will be wanting her 
tea. Do you mean to go farther than Nutley ? ” 

“ No, I don’t think so, but I may not find Mr. Thomp- 
son at home, or he may keep me waiting. Don’t be 
afraid, Lina, I will bring mother and the child home safe 
enough, only can’t we have our evening to ourselves ? I 
don’t like these promiscuous visits. One never knows 
when one will be alone, and I have a great deal to think 
over just now. Write and put Miss Shaw off, there’s a 
good girl ! Say another time perhaps, but not to-night — 
not to-night ! ” 

“ I thought you liked Verena, David,” replied his wife in 
a disappointed tone, “ I think she is so nice. And perhaps 
it is something particular. I don’t think she would have 
sent Sam over, unless it had been.” 

“No, no, no! it is nothing!” returned the parson 


164 


PARSON JONES. 


quickly, “ and I do not feel disposed to talk to anyone but 
you to-night. Write and say another time.” 

“ May I ask her for to-morrow evening instead ? ” said 
Selina. 

“ Goodness me ! no ! ” cried the parson irritably. “If 
you are so anxious to see her, why not go up to the manor ? 
Why am I to have my house invaded by a set of young 
women, and just at the end of the week, too, when I have to 
think about my sermon ? Ask her whenever you like when 
I am out of the house, but let me have my evenings in 
peace, there’s a good woman, do ! ” 

Selina retreated, considerably crestfallen, not being able 
to make out what had come to her amiable David, nor why 
he should have taken this sudden dislike to the society of 
Varena Shaw, to whom they were all so attached. She 
scribbled a weak little note in answer, to the effect that it 
was uncertain if her husband would be at home that even- 
ing, but she would write and let Verena know when he was 
at liberty to see her. Verena received the note and, 
though a little disappointed, thought nothing of it. A 
clergyman must necessarily be a busy person, but Mr. 
Jones had always found or made time before to see her, 
and he would make it again. But when two or three days 
went by and she received no further invitation to the par- 
sonage, she became uneasy. Was there really something 
wrong ? Had her confession appeared so unmaidenly to 
the parson as to shock and disgust him with her ? She 
remembered that he had been rather silent and looked 
very pale when she told him her story. This idea made 
Verena unhappy. She had learnt to regard Parson Jones 
as so great a friend, that she thought she could tell him 
anything without destroying their friendship. But perhaps 
the case was worse than it had seemed to herself. She 
had regarded her discarded love so long in the light of a 


PARSON JONES. 


165 

misfortune, that she spoke of it as one. But others might 
see in her avowal of love for a man, who evidently cared 
nothing for her, only boldness, and unwomanliness, and 
shame. And Parson Jones was good, and upright, and 
honorable. In his eyes it might seem almost as a sin. 
The girl could not rest for the ideas that came into her 
head regarding it. She wondered what she had said. She 
tried to recall the exact words of the conversation that had 
passed between them, but it had faded from her memory. 
She had been so excited over telling her story, she could 
not remember what she had said. But evidently something 
to shock David Jones, else why did he hold himself aloof 
from her, and make no sign of the pity he said he felt ? At 
the parsonage, things were not much better, for the children 
kept asking for their playmate Verena and why she did not 
come to see them, but directly Selina proposed to ask her to 
come over, the parson urged some excuse to prevent it. At 
last old Mrs. Jones even seemed to recognize that her son was 
somewhat unreasonable and plucked up courage to ask hef 
daughter-in-law why she need wait till David was disen- 
gaged, since he seemed so busy why not ask Miss Shaw to 
come and have tea with her and the children on the fol- 
lowing day and take her chance of finding the master of 
the house at home. 

“ If David wouldn’t mind,” said Selina timidly. 

“ Why on earth should I mind ? ” demanded her hus- 
band, but without raising his eyes from his book. “ Miss 
Shaw comes to see you and the babies. If I should be at 
home, well and good ! If not, she will have the better half 
of me.” And he laughed rather harshly at his very feeble 
joke. Verena accepted the invitation gladly, and was 
punctual to her time. But the parson had already flown 
and no one knew where. He had left the house without 
saying a word to anybody. 


i66 


PARSON JONES. 


And without his tea,” said Selina, in a complaining voice. 
‘‘ Grandmamma ! David has really grown too tiresome lately. 
I can’t think what has come to him. He never used to 
leave his home like this, without even telling me. How am 
I to know if he wishes his tea kept for him, or not ? It 
would serve him right to send it all away and let him go 
without.” 

But this piece of heterodoxy from the usually mild and 
long-suffering Selina was an innovation which old Mrs. 
Jones thought right to nip in the bud. 

“ My dear Selina ! ” she exclaimed, “ I am surprised to 
hear you speak in such a disrespectful manner of your 
husband, and before Verena and the children too ! It is 
not setting them a very proper example of how they should 
behave, when they take the solemn obligations of marriage 
on themselves. What is a wife for, except to wait on the 
time and pleasure of her husband ? If David were late 
every evening it is your duty to see that he has everything 
he may want directly he comes home. Haven’t you vowed 
before God to love, and honor, and obey him ? And yet you 
talk of letting his tea get cold. I am ashamed of you.” 

“ But grandmamma,” urged Selina in self defense, “ should 
you have considered it necessary to wait half the night for 
grandpapa, if he hadn’t come home to his meals in time ? ” 
“ My dear ! your grandpapa never was late ! He used 
to say that he had been too long without me, to be able to 
afford to give up one moment of my society when he had 
it. But grandpapa was different from our dear David. 
He had his business hours, and then his work was over for 
the day. But you can never know when a minister’s work 
is over. David may be at this moment praying beside the 
bed of some poor dying creature who requires his ministra- 
tions. Is his tea to get cold for that ? ” 

“ Oh ! no I no I of course not I ” replied Selina uneasily, 


PARSON JONES. 1O7 

“ only David always used to let me know when he expected 
to be late.” 

Verena played with the bread and butter on her plate 
and said nothing. She could not help feeling that Parson 
■Jones’ absence had something to do with herself, and yet, 
how could it be ? Surely — surely, her confession had not 
grieved him so much as all that — as to make him dislike the 
idea of seeing her again ! What was there so wrong in it 
after all ? Was she not more unfortunate than wicked ? 
Could she help loving Herbert Bryanstone ? Could she 
kill that love directly it became impolitic to go on loving 
him ? And yet, she had conceived so high an estimate of 
the parson’s worth, that, if her history had turned his heart 
against her, she must have betrayed herself as unworthy of 
his regard. These thoughts made the girl silent and 
melancholy, until her hostess observed the difference in her 
demeanor. 

“Are you not well, Verena ? ” inquired Selina. “You 
are more silent this evening than usual. Has Mrs Jeffer- 
son been worrying you again ? ” 

“ No ! indeed ! Mrs. Jefferson has left me quite alone of 
late, for which I am considerately thankful. I think I owe 
the immunity chiefly to the fact that her great friend 
Colonel Arbuthnott took compassion on my loneliness, and 
interested himself to talk to me, and that made my aunt 
jealous. She will not allow anyone to monopolize the 
colonel, you know, so as soon as he tried to make friends 
with me she dispensed with my attendance in the drawing 
room, greatly to my satisfaction.” 

“Jealous!” exclaimed Selina; “why should she be 
jealous of the colonel ? He is not her husband What 
can a married woman want with a gentleman friend ? 
Doesn’t it make Captain Jefferson angry ? ” 

“ My dear I ” gaid the old lady solemnly, “ I would rather 


i68 


PARSON JONES. 


you did not discuss the subject. It is not one that either 
you or Miss Shaw should speak of. Not that I mean to 
insinuate that there is anything wrong in Mrs. Jefferson’s 
friendship with the colonel — God forbid ! — but the mere 
fact of its existence is a scandal upon the holy estate of 
matrimony. It is a terrible example to married women, one 
of whom might do it with impunity, while a hundred might 
damage their reputation. I never heard of such a thing 
before. I cannot imagine what Captain Jefferson can be 
thinking of to allow it.” 

“ I think my poor uncle is so unhappy with her, Mrs. 
Jones, that he is grateful to anyone who will take her off his 
hands. She does nothing but quarrel with him when they 
are together. The present bone of contention is Miss 
Abbott. Uncle has warned his wife against Miss Abbott. 
He believes her [to be nothing but a begging impostor. 
But his opposition is quite sufficient for Mrs. Jefferson, so 
she has just arranged a party to the moors, which is to 
consist of Miss Abbott, the colonel, and herself.” 

‘‘Without her husband?” cried Mary Jone.s, with 
uplifted hands. 

“ Oh, certainly, without her husband. I am sure uncle 
would not go if she asked him, and I am sure he would 
spoil the party if he did. To make an expedition with the 
colonel as escort is nothing new for Mrs. Jefferson. She 
says that the standard she has raised for herself is so very 
high, and all the world knows that it is so high, that she 
can do things that would ruin the reputations of other 
women. Going about alone with Colonel Arbuthnott is 
one of them. If you were to suggest to my aunt that her 
conduct was, to say the least of it, peculiar, she would 
wither you with a glance of such astonished innocence, 
that yon would feel disposed to apologize for having 
allowed such an idea in her presence,” 


PARSON JONES. 


169 


Old Mrs. Jones was silenced. 

“ I confess I don’t understand it, my dear ! ” she 
remarked after a pause ; “ things are altered since my day, 
and people don’t seem to love each other now as they did 
then. I hear and see such strange things, that I often 
think I am in another world than that when I was young, 
and that it is time I passed on to meet my dear old hus- 
band again.” 

“But is Miss Abbott nice?” demanded Selina, with a 
view to changing the conversation. “ What does Mrs. 
Jefferson like her for? ” 

“ I really cannot tell you that. She is a great talker and 
a great scandalmonger. She seems to have been every- 
where, and to know everybody; indeed, I wonder some- 
times where she can possibly have picked up all her news. 
She is not rich, nor handsome, nor particularly clever, nor 
young. What is her passport to society ? And yet she 
seems to have the entree to the best houses in London, 
even to the Marlborough House garden parties, and the 
highest functions of the season. How does she get in ? Or 
are all her stories untrue ? It is a puzzle to me.” 

“ And she is going away with Mrs. Jefferson,” said 
Selina. 

“ Yes, almost directly, I am thankful to say, and then my 
dear Uncle Hal and I shall be free to enjoy ourselves. 
Mrs. Jefferson has some relations in Devonshire, and so she 
is going first for a fortnight to the moors, and will finish up 
with a visit to her family. And Miss Abbott and Colonel 
Arbuthnott go with her.” 

“ I suppose,” remarked Selina innocently, “ that if Cap- 
tain Jefferson died. Colonel Arbuthnott would marry Mrs. 
Jefferson ! ” 

“ Selina ! ” cried the old lady. “ Do not mention such 
a thing, I beg ! You cannot think of what you are saying.” 


170 


PARSON JONES. 


Verena laughed at the genuine horror she displayed. 

I can assure you he would not,” she replied, “ and for 
a very good reason. He is married already.” 

“ Married already ! ” echoed Selina with a scream. 

“ Yes, indeed ! and has been for years. He has three 
sons in the army. That is Mrs. Jefferson’s strong point. 
If anyone ventures to express surprise at their intimacy, 
she says, ‘ But he’s married. His children are old enough 
to be my brothers and sisters. He knew me almost as soon 
as I was born.’ And what can people say after that ? ” 

But where is Mrs. Arbuthnott then ? ” said Selina. 
“ Why does she not come to Llanty-gollen with her hus- 
band ? The colonel has spent the shooting season at Fern- 
side ever since we came here. Are they not good friends 
either ? ” 

“Ah! Mrs. Jones, you must ask him that. I know 
nothing about his wife. I have never seen her ; perhaps 
they are one of those fashionable couples who agree to 
spend half the year apart. Perhaps Mrs. Arbuthnott does 
not like the country and prefers to remain in London.” 

“ Well, well I ” sighed Selina, as she rose from the table 
and busied herself with the baby, “ I don’t understand such 
things. I thought when people married they always went 
about with each other, and lived together till they died.” 

“ And so all good husbands and wives do, my dear,” 
said Mary Jones. “ Don’t you believe anything else. 
These new-fangled ways are as strange to me as to you, 
and I don’t care to hear about them, I don’t indeed.” 

“ I think we might find something pleasanter to talk 
about myself,” replied Verena, as she followed her hostess’ 
example and sauntered from the tea-table to the garden. 
The evenings were still warm enough to be pleasant, 
though autumn w^s close at hand, and they closed in much 
sooner than they had been used to do. The girl wandered 


PARSOJ\r JON-ES. 


t?! 

up and down the drive with Mollie clinging to her arm, 
trying to spin out the time in hopes that the parson would 
return before she was compelled to go home. But it was 
all in vain. The dusk fell until the flowers had assumed the 
same ghostly gray shade, and the leaves had turned silvery 
white, and Selina came after them to take Mollie in to bed. 

“ Why, do you know what timo it is ? ” she said, when the 
child expostulated with her, “ past nine o’clock ! Had it 
not been that Verena was with you, you would have been in 
bed half an hour ago ? ” 

“ Past nine ? ” echoed Verena, “ I had no idea it was so 
late ! Uncle Hal will be wondering what has become of 
me. Good-night, Mrs. Jones, Good-night, dear Mollie. I 
must run all the way home.” And suiting the action to the 
word, Verena commenced to run down the drive and along 
the little lane beyond. Meanwhile David Jones, believing 
the home coast mu.st be clear, was returning to the parson- 
age, by the same route which she had taken ; and, in another 
couple of minutes, she had run straight up against him. 
He, unprepared for the contact, naturally opened his arms 
to prevent her falling and received her full into them. 

“ Oh, Mr. Jones ! ” and “ Miss Shaw ! is it possible ? ” they 
had exclaimed simultaneously before they had realized the 
position. Then they recovered themselves and Verena’s first 
feeling was one of joy that she had not missed him after all. 

“ I wanted to see you so much,” she exclaimed, “ I have 
been waiting at the vicarage all this time in hopes you would 
come home. I have wanted to see you ever since that day. 
I was confused — in too great a hurry — I am afraid I may 
not have made myself as explicit as I might have done and 
that I left you with a wrong impression of me.” 

“ No ! I think I understood you perfectly,” replied the 
parson. 

“ But it was all so hurried and I know I did not tell you 


PARSON JONES. 


\n 

what I wished or intended to do. May I come to you 
again ? may I come to-morrow when you can see me all 
alone in your little study, where we can be uninterrupted 
and no one can overhear what I may say.” 

“ Is it necessary ? ” stammered the parson, “ have you not 
told me all ? Why renew an unhappy subject which can 
only give you pain ? ” 

He could not see the girl’s face, it was only represented 
by a white indistinct patch in the gloaming, but he could 
hear the surprise in her voice as she answered : 

“ But you promised to help me ! — you said you would be 
my friend, Mr. Jones ! And there are one or two things 
that I want to explain to you — that must have seemed 
strange perhaps, and — Oh, Mr. Jones ! ” she burst out, “ I 
want a friend so badly. Don’t draw back because I am 
worse than you thought me to be.” 

“ My dear child,” he began, “ my dear Miss Shaw ” 

“ No ! no ! call me your child, do ! I know it is nonsense, 
but it sounds so sweet,” cried Verena passionately. 

“ My dear child, then — if you really believe I can help you 
in any way to bear this trouble better, of course I will. I 
have pledged myself to that. But when all is said and done, 
what can I do ? ” 

“ Let me come and talk to you about it,” said Verena, “ I 
did not tell you half last time, and who knows if, between us, 
some remedy or some alleviation may not present itself. 
And at all events, to talk to you will comfort me. It is very 
selfish of me, I know,” continued Verena timidly, as his con- 
tinued silence made her fear she was asking too great a 
favor of him, “ but I feel so safe with you. I know every 
word I say will be sacred, and that however you may con- 
demn, you will never betray me.” 

“ Yes ! you may be sure of that,” returned Parson Jones, 
“ and if you think it will comfort you, come.” 


PARSON JONES. 


173 


“ But when — when ? ” she cried gladly. 

“To-morrow at two o’clock," he answered in a grave, 
low voice. 

“ Oh ! thanks ! thanks ! a thousand times. You will see 
how punctual I shall be. I am so much obliged to you, 
dear, dear Mr. Jones, you can’t think. Do you know,’’ con- 
tinued Verena, with a sad little laugh, “ that I was almost 
afraid that you were angry with me for having been so 
foolish, from your having kept away from me so much since 
the day we met in the churchyard.’’ 

“ Kept away from you ? ’’ he stammered. 

“Well ! avoided me, then ! This is the first time we 
have met since, you know, and I have felt quite unhappy 
about it. But it will be all right now. Thank you so much, 
and good-night ! ’’ said Verena as she passed on her way to 
Heddlewick Manor, and left him standing in the road 
alone. He must see her again then — he had pledged him- 
self to it — and alone. After all was she not one of his 
parishioners and with as much right to claim what the 
ritual styled his “ghostly counsel ’’ as any old woman who 
fancied she was bound straight for Paradise because she had 
upset her stomach with unripe fruit. To console her, or 
point out to her the right thing to do, was part of his duty 
and he dared not shirk it. But he sincerely wished the 
ordeal were over. As he entered the vicarage parlor and 
the light of the lamp fell on his face his wife observed its 
unusual pallor. 

“ You are not looking well, David,’’ she said, in a tone of 
vexation ; “ I do wish you would not go without.your meals 
in this way. We waited tea for you nearly an hour, and 
would have done so longer only Verena Shaw was here. 
She was dreadfully disappointed at missing you, I could see 
that, and she was looking worn and harassed too, both 
grandmamma and I thought. Where have you been, my 


174 PAJ^SOAT JONES. 

dear? At some trying deathbed, I expect, to look at 
you.” 

“ No ! Lina, I have only been in the parish as usual. 
I met Miss Shaw as I came through Nightingale Lane. We 
ran up against each other in the dark. She said she wanted 
to speak to me, and I made an appointment with her at two 
o’clock to-morrow.” 

“ I am glad of that,” replied his wife, “for I know she 
was disappointed at your absence this evening, and she is 
a dear girl. That aunt of hers seems to be going on in a 
nice way, by her account. It must be enough to make any 
girl wretched to see such things. T shouldn't wonder if it 
is about Mrs. Jefferson that she wants to speak to you.” 

“ I hardly think so, for in the first place Miss Shaw is 
not a scandalmonger, and in the second she must know 
I would not listen to her, if she were.” 

“ Well ! will you have your tea now ? ” said Selina, feel- 
ing snubbed. 

“ Just a cup, please, but nothing to eat. Bring it into 
my study, Lina, if you will be so kind. I have a headache 
and wish to be quiet.” 

“ He always has a headache now,” grumbled the wife to 
her mother-in-law as she made the tea. “ I think if this 
goes on, that we really ought to ask Dr. Rowley to call 
and see him. It is so unlike David to shut himself up in 
his study before he has told us a word of what he has been 
doing all day. And he has never even asked after the 
children ! Don’t you think he is very strange, grand- 
mamma ! ” . 

“ I can see that my dear son is not quite himself, Selina, 
but it is not for us to know what wrestlings of the spirit he 
may be undergoing for some soul in peril. If you ask my 
advice, I should say, leave him quite alone until it is his 
wish to confide in you. Curiosity is most unbecoming in 


PARSON JONES. 


i7S 

a minister’s wife. Your husband is set apart from all other 
men by his sacred calling, and has cares and anxieties 
which he can confide in no one. Your duty is to lessen 
them by submitting in all things to his wishes. Is the tea 
ready ? Then take it into the study and place it on the 
table without a word of inquiry, and you will have your 
reward some way or other. My David is not unmindful of 
such things.” 

Selina’s reward came sooner than she anticipated ; for, as 
she put the tea down on the study table, her husband 
stretched out his hand and drew her toward him. 

“ Am I a very tiresome husband to you, my dear ? ” he 
asked gently. Selina reddened to the parting of her hair. 

“ Tiresome ! O David ! what a word to use ! Have 
I ever said so, dear ? ” 

“ No ! you are too good to say so, perhaps even to think 
so ; but I know I must have seemed a sullen brute to you 
the last week or two. I have been thinking very deeply, 
Lina ; and, when a man is grinding out a proposition in his 
own brain, it often makes him feel surly and preoccupied. 
But I ask your pardon if I have seemed so. It is only in 
seeming, my dear. Give me a little time and I shall be 
myself again.” He sighed gently as he said the words, 
and passed his hands wearily through his hair. 

“ You have no trouble that I can help you with, dear 
husband ?” whispered Selina softly, as she laid her lips on 
his bowed head. Parson Jones turned suddenly and pressed 
her closely in his arms while he kissed her on her brow 
and cheeks. 

“ Yes ! yes ! a thousand times ! ” he exclaimed, “ you 
can help me — you do ! You are my safeguard from all 
evil thoughts and things, the best blessing a man can have 
in this world, his best talisman against evil, a good faith- 
ful wife. God bless you, my dear ! God bless you ! It 


176 


PARSON JONES. 


makes me feel a man again to hear you speak to me like 
that. 1 have troubles, parish troubles ; don’t allude to 
them, it is not worth while — only rest assured that your 
affection and your faith in me comforts me, and that I can 
never forget what I owe to you and the children and the 
dear old mother, I mean,” continued David Jones, floun- 
dering in a vague idea that he was on the verge of betray- 
ing himself — “ that no troubles — and they are nothing, my 
dear, positively nothing — can ever make me feel differently 
toward you all, except to be the more grateful to you for 
your sympathy and forbearance.” 

Selina, to whom this address was more or less Greek, 
finding no suitable reply to make to it, bent down again and 
tried her former remedy of a kiss. The parson received 
the matrimonial salute with meekness and gratitude, and 
hated himself the next moment because his wife’s lips 
were somewhat dry and cracked from the effects of a cold, 
and he could not help perceiving it and thinking, for the 
space of a flash of lightning, what those rose-leaf lips of 
Verena must feel like to the happy man who had the privi- 
lege to press them. He rose quickly from his seat and pro- 
fessed to be looking for some volume on his bookshelves. 

“ I will leave you now, then, dear David,” said Selina, 
“since you wish to be undisturbed, and it is baby’s bed- 
time.” 

And with that she crept from the room and left him 
alone. He gave vent to a groan of relief as she disap- 
peared. 

“ Is all my future life to be like this ? ” he thought, as he 
spread out his muscular hands on the table, and watched 
how they shook with agitation. “ Am I doomed to live a 
life of deceit to those to whom I owe my highest earthly 
duty, in order that they shall not suffer for my sin ? /, 
who have prided myself (I fear too much) on the fact of 


PARSON JONES. 


177 


never having told a falsehood since I was born ! And how 
terribly weak I am too ! Did any man before me, I won- 
der, shake like a leaf in the presence of a girl ? Is this 
love, the mighty master, and shall I never be able to con- 
quer it ? But I must not see her again. To-morrow, per- 
haps, because I had no excuse to give for a refusal to her 
request, but after that interview — and how I dread it — 
there must be no more. I cannot stand them, they shake 
me to my very center. What a confession to make ! What 
a terrible awakening from the quiet dreams in which I 
have been dreaming my life away till now ! And all for 
the sake of a mere girl — compared to myself, a child ! 
My God ! of what weak clay are we unhappy mortals 
made ? ” 

He drew forth Ernest Solun's letter from his writing case, 
more with the view of distracting his thoughts from the 
sad subject than anything else, and read it over again. 

“ How grandly he writes,” he thought, “with how much 
honest fervor and unmitigated belief ! His Lord is to him 
a living presence instead of a mythical personage in whom 
he has been taught to believe, but never realized. If some 
of the ecclesiastical potentates whom Solun so heartily 
despises could spiritually see the Lord, as he does, walk- 
ing by their sides, clothed in rags, they too might strip off 
their robes of office — their vestments and chasubles and 
soutanes, and tread barefoot the paths he trod. But they 
can’t see him. They have no spiritual eyes, no real faith, 
nothing indeed that they value in comparison with their 
worldly trappings and wealth, or they would have had their 
ears open to his voice long since. It is strange, when you 
come to consider it, that the nation which calls itself the 
most Christian nation in the world should differ so widely 
in its preaching from its practice. Dear Solun ! he won- 
ders if I have prepared a present yet to lay upon the altar 


178 PA J? SON- JONES. 

of our mutual Lord. No, not that present, dear friend. I 
fear my courage is not yet strong enough to risk the anger, 
the contumely, and, still worse, the sorrow of my people 
when they heard I had resolved to give up the Church in 
which I have been ordained, and to which surely I owe a 
plighted duty, for the life of a missionary. If it were not 
for my mother, I think Selina would yield uncomplainingly 
to any wish of mine. She is a good woman, poor Lina ! 
May God reward her better than I have done ! And yet 
my mother loves me even more than Lina does. I am her 
all. She considers me perfection. Surely it would not be 
so difficult to persuade her, little by little, that my duty 
lies where my heart is. Oh, to be freed from this constant 
obligation to cut down my highest aspirations, my true 
ideas, my conviction of what is right and best, to the level 
of the rules set down for me by the Church I am bound to 
serve. Am I honest in doing it ? Shall I not have to give 
account at the last day for the words which I have spoken 
with my lips while my heart was far from echoing them ? 
Oh, for a talk and a walk with this dear disciple, who seems 
to me as if he were Peter, or James, or John returned to life 
again, to stir up the flagging energies of this money-loving 
and time-serving age.” 

Parson Jones paced his study floor for hours thinking 
over his friend’s letter, and the silent communion of spirit 
with spirit did him good ; for, when he rejoined his wife and 
mother in the general sitting room, all traces of nervous- 
ness and agitation had gone, and left him calm and com- 
posed. 


PARSON JONES. 


179 


XII. 

It was the next day — the parson was in his study, with 
Verena Shaw seated opposite to him. 

“ I told you I would be punctual,” she said, with a sweet, 
sad smile, “but it was quite a little matter of difficulty to 
shake off those dear children as I passed the garden, Mr. 
Jones. Why are some people given so much more than 
others? I always think of you as the very happiest person 
I have ever met. To be settled for life in this charming 
spot, with your good wife and those dear children, it seems 
to me to be the most enviable lot a man could have. Don’t 
you consider it so ? Don’t you often pity the poor creat- 
ures who, like myself, have to go through life without the 
object of their desires ?” 

“ Perhaps,” replied the parson wearily ; “ but you should 
never envy anyone, Verena, until you are sure they are 
happier than yourself, or more likely to obtain their heart’s 
desire.” 

The girl’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. 

“ But you, Mr. Jones, you forget. Why, was it not you 
who told me, the first time we met in the churchyard, that, 
if I. had never seen perfect happiness before, I saw it in 
you ; and that you did not remember ever to have had a 
wish ungratified in your life ? ” 

David Jones colored. 

“Oh, yes! I believe I did. And it was true, in a measure, 
I have much more than most men to be thankful for — I 
have been singularly blessed — still, human misery and hap- 
piness are portioned out pretty equally, and if we don’t get 
trials in one shape, we generally do in another. You may 
take it as a rule that we are all born to suffer more or 
less.” 


i8o 


PARSON JONES, 


‘‘ I suppose so, but I am young still to give up all hope 
of happiness. I cant give it up, Mr. Jones. Fight as I 
will with the apparent hopelessness of my case, I cannot 
help thinking that something may happen to alter the state 
of affairs. I cannot give up all hope, I cannot give Bertie 
up ; I know he loves me, and it is the mystery and silence 
on his part that are killing me. If I could only hear the 
worst, it would be better than this groping in the dark after 
a solution of his conduct, at which, unaided, I can never 
arrive. Mr. Jones,” continued Verena, laying her feverish 
little hand on his icy-cold one, “ you said the other day 
that others might perhaps be able to do for me what I could 
not do for myself. What did you mean ? ” 

“ I meant,” replied David Jones slowly, “ that a stranger 
might institute inquiries for you which delicacy might pre- 
vent your doing for yourself.” 

“ Ah, yes ! I thought that was what you meant. And 
could you make these inquiries for me, do you think ? ” 

“I do not know. I am so far off. My duties preclude 
my leaving Llanty-gollen, and I know no one in England.” 

Verena’s face fell. 

“You are unwilling to help me — you regret that you 
offered to do so — I read it in your face,” she cried. 

“ No, no ! you do me wrong,” said Parson Jones ; “ I am 
ready to do all in my power, only I cannot see the way.” 

“Let me tell you a little more about it, dear friend,” said 
the girl. “ I have been so afraid since I spoke to you that I 
had made myself out to be odious in 5^our eyes. But don’t 
run away with the idea that I was too easily won. I know 
the Cheltenham girls are all counted to be flirts, but my 
acquaintance with Herbert Bryanstone was a matter of a 
good many months before he ever spoke to me of love. 
Don’t think that I was won unsought. I am sure you must 
know wh^t love is— you, who must be so capable of inspire 


PARSON JONES. 


i8l 

ing it — you must remember what you felt for your wife in 
your courting days, and how it is a feeling that absorbs all 
others and becomes a part of your very self. Doesn’t it ?” 

“ Yes, yes — go on.” 

“ That is how Bertie felt for me — not only I for him. 
He often told me so. He has sworn to me, over and over 
again, that if he did not marry me, he would never marry 
another woman, and I know that he will keep his word. I 
am sure of it.” 

“ Then how do you account for his silence and deser- 
tion ? ” said her companion. 

“ I cannot account for them, Mr. Jones,” replied Verena. 
^‘The mystery of them tears my heart to piece.s. Oh, do 
think of some way by which I can arrive at the truth. I 
don’t ask to see my darling ; I don’t even ask to hear from 
him directly ; only to know that he knows I am still the 
same, and always have been, and that it is no fancied wrong 
in me that causes this cruel separation between us.” 

^‘What is the name of the god-father with whom Mr. Bry- 
anstone lived ? ” 

“ Will you believe me when I say that I really don’t 
know, that I never asked ? You see Bertie was an inde- 
pendent man ; he had no one’s leave to gain before he 
proposed to me ; and his god-father was only a name to me; 
indeed he only mentioned him cursorily once or twice, and 
I neither asked nor cared how the old gentleman was 
called.” 

That seems very odd to me.” 

“ Does it ? But what do people in love care about god- 
fathers ? It was not as if Bertie had been in any way de- 
pendent on him. He was only a species of lay figure to 
me. Of course, if the engagement between us had gone 
on, mother or I should have had the curiosity to ask his 
name ^nd ^11 about him ; particularly as Bertie seemed to 


i 82 


PARSON JONES. 


be attached to him, but he gave us no time. After mother 
had told him our real names and all about ourselves, he 
went away and we never saw him again.” 

“ It is a most extraordinary case,” remarked the parson, 
“and does not reflect much credit on Mr. Bryanstone.” 

“ Oh, don’t say that, Mr. Jones, it hurts me. You 
wouldn’t if you had known him, how honorable, and good, 
and straightforward he was: what a gentleman and how much 
he loved ” 

“Yes ! yes ! I understand. That will do,” exclaimed the 
parson, as he writhed under the commendations on Ve- 
rena’s lover, from Verena’s lips ; “ the question now is, how 
to find where this perfect gentleman has hidden himself, is 
it not ? ” 

Verena drew back with tears of wounded pride in her 
eyes. 

“ Mr. Jones,” she cried, “ I thought you were a friend, 
and you are laughing at me.” 

And laying her head down on the table, she began to cry. 
How he longed, with all the strength of his manhood, all 
the power of his unlicensed passion, to take her sweet face 
in his hands and kiss away the tears he had been cow- 
ardly enough to provoke. But he curbed himself and, 
biting his nether lip almost through with his strong white 
teeth, answered soberly : 

“ My dear Miss Shaw, don’t misjudge me, and forgive me 
if I spoke more sarcastically than I had any right to do. 
It is hard for your friends to see you suffer like this, and 
not feel a little vexed with the person who has caused you 
so much unnecessary grief. But I will try to believe with 
you, that there is some great mistake that a few words, 
perhaps, may rectify. Could there have been anything in 
the communication your mother made to Mr. Bryanstone 
to cause his defalcation ? ” 


PARSON JONES. 


183 

“Oh, impossible ! ” said Verena, raising her head, “ for 
there was nothing wrong about her separation from my 
father, you know : it was simply from incompatibility of 
temper, and the fault was all on his side. My dear mother 
was one of the most amiable creatures in existence. Besides, 
I was present at their interview, and she simply told Bertie 
what our real name was, and who my father was. The fact 
that he was alive, and the motive for the separation, he had 
heard from me, long before.” 

“ Do you think it is possible — forgive me if I wound you, 
but it is only a supposition — that Mr. Bryanstone may have 
died without your being informed of it? ” 

“Oh, no ! 1 should have been sure to have heard if that 
had been the case ” said Verena, “ for I have searched the 
Times daily, to see if I could read anything concerning 
him.” 

“ What was the name of his god-father’s place of res- 
idence ? Did you ever hear that ? ” 

Verena shook her head. 

“ The god-father is quite a myth to me. But I know that 
Bertie was very familiar with Yorkshire, for he often spoke 
of the hunting and shooting there. He cared for nothing 
so much as riding and shooting. He was considered a 
crack shot and rider about Cheltenham. I often heard the 
men speak of his prowess in all sorts of field sports. He 
was a great favorite there. He was considered to be the 
handsomest man of the season when we met, and ” 

“ Have you anything belonging to this gentleman that 
you could give me that would prove a clew to his iden- 
tity ? ” demanded the parson, interrupting her. 

“ I have his photograph,” replied Verena dubiously. 

“ May I see it ? ” 

With many blushes, the girl thrust her hand down the 
bosom of her frock and drew thence a cabinet photograph. 


184 


PARSON JONES. 


Parson Jones took it from her. It represented a man of three 
or four and twenty, dressed in the height of the fashion, 
and possessing a singularly handsome countenance. Under 
the portrait was inscribed, in Verena’s writing, “ My Darl- 
ing, June, 1886.” Parson Jones gazed at it for a moment, 
and then shut his eyes as though the sight somewhat blinded 
him. In reality, he was putting up a little prayer for 
strength to do his duty. 

‘‘ Will you leave me this portrait for one evening, my 
child ? ” he said presently. 

Verena looked alarmed at the prospect of parting with 
her treasure. 

“Oh, Mr. Jones! what for? You will not show it to 
anybody ? ” 

“ Certainly not. I promise you it shall meet no eyes 
but mine. But, if I am to institute inquiries for you 
with any hope of success, I ought to be a little familiar 
with the features of the person I am searching after, should 
I not ? If you will trust me with this photograph until 
to-morrow, I will call at the manor and deliver it into your 
hands myself. Will that set your mind at ease ?” 

“ Oh, Mr. Jones, you know I would trust you with every, 
thing I possess, down to my very soul,” said the girl ; “ but 
do you really think you will find him ? ” 

“ I promise nothing, Verena, except to do my best to 
further your interests ; and, if it be for your good to meet 
this young man again and to have all your hopes regarding 
him fulfilled, then I shall hope and pray that God may 
bring it about for you.” 

“ Oh, dear, dear friend, how can I thank you ? ” cried 
Verena, sinking down on her knees by the parson’s chair 
and pressing her rose-leaf tinted lips on his hard hand. 
“I shall love you to the last day of my life for this. I shall 
never forget it, live as long as I may; and I shall always 


PARSON JONES. 


l8S 

count you as the best and dearest friend a poor girl like me 
ever had. I wish — I wish — ” continued Verena, with a 
suspicious sound as of tears in her voice, “ I wish I could 
thank you properly — I wish I could do something for you 
to show my gratitude ” 

“ Then get up, my dear — get up ! ” said the unhappy 
parson, “ and sit down in your chair again. I am a little 
weary — and you lean rather hard on me.” 

“ How .selfish of me ! ” cried the girl, jumping up quickly, 
with a smile shining through her tears. “ I was thinking of 
nothing, I believe, but that the closer I am to your side, the 
safer I feel. But if you do this great, inestimable thing for 
me, however can I show my gratitude to you in return ? ” 

“ If personally, or through the mediumship of my 
friends, I am enabled to bring you and Mr. Bryanstone 
together again, Verena, will you try to believe that there is 
a God who made you and cares for you, and will not leave 
your soul to be destroyed for ever when your body dies ?” 

“ If Bertie comes back to me, Mr. Jones, I shall be ready 
to believe in anything. It was his desertion of me that 
made me think there could be no God to care what I felt 
or suffered. But if he sent him back — oh, it would be too 
great joy ! I dare not contemplate it : I think I should 
die from excess of happiness ! ” 

But if you are to believe in the existence of a God 
only if he gives you your heart’s desire, what if you are 
doomed to live your life without it? Hope all things, but 
don’t make too sure. Men have proved faithless before 
now, in whom women believed as certainly as you seem to 
believe in Mr. Bryanstone. This may all be some unfortu- 
nate mistake and it may not. I confess that, in my opinion, 
Mr. Bryanstone’s being a free agent tells much against him 
and the prospect of your seeing him again. Try and be pre- 
pared for anything. Try and believe that your Heavenly 


PARSON JONES. 


1 86 

Father is watching over you for good, and that, whichever 
way things turn out, he will still be by your side to help 
you to bear them.” 

Verena sighed a deep and heavy sigh. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Jones, I am not good like you.” 

“ Don’t say that ! Don’t think it ! I am as frail as 
yourself — perhaps much more so. I do believe in the 
presence and protection of my God. If you would only 
believe the same, you might suffer, my dear child — for we all 
suffer — but you would not rebel.” 

“ I will try — indeed I will try,” replied the girl, “ and if 
I ever do so with all my heart, it will be your doing, Mr. 
Jones, it will indeed.” 

“ No ! no ! his, all his ! ” said the parson, with his hand 
shading his features, “ I — I — can do nothing, but — but 
pray for you, Verena — and myself,” he added, in a lower 
tone. 

“ Are you tired of me now, dear Mr. Jones, shall I go?” 
inquired the girl, seeing his clouded brow. 

“ Yes ! yes ! I have much to do and think of, and would 
rather be alone,” he rejoined, with scant ceremony. 

Verena rose and placed her hand gently upon his. 

‘‘ Thank you, thank you ! a thousand times,” she 
whispered. “ I am afraid I have worried you beyond 
measure, but you have made me so much happier. God 
bless you for it, Mr. Jones.” 

He looked up and gazed earnestly in her lovely, speaking 
face. 

“ May God Almighty shed his best blessings on you and all 
whom you love, Verena, now and for evermore. Amen ! ” 

“Thank you ! ” breathed, rather than said, Verena once 
again as, awed by the solemnity of the parson’s manner, she 
crept softly from the room. 

A dozen times that day did David Jones take out the 


PARSOM jORtES. 187 

portrait of Herbert Bryanstone, and regard the features of 
the man whom Verena loved and sorrowed after. 

“ Young ! ” he thought to himself, — “ in the very blush of 
youth and beauty, with money and freedom of choice — for- 
tunate man ! — and yet he has deserted her. What ca 7 i 
have been the reason ? He must be either mad or bad. I 
wonder if he can be already married ! There have been 
men as bad as that — and then, when he found that his atten- 
tions were accepted in earnest, he disappeared. What a 
brute! To injure such a woman as Verena. Well I what- 
ever the mystery may be, I have pledged myself to try and 
find it out for her. I wonder if George Bates could help 
me. He has lived for years in the East end of London, but 
I’m afraid he knows very little about the West. However, 
he may have friends there, and he is the only person I know 
to undertake such a search for me. Oh, you fool ! you 
fool ! ” he said, apostrophizing the photograph. “ How 
could you gain that sweet, ingenuous, loving heart, and then 
cast it away ? I shall never think you worthy of her, not 
if you seek her again through floods of penitential tears. 
Bah ! you are not a man ! you cannot be ! You are a 
coward under any circumstances, for the least you could 
have done when you found that Fate was against you, was 
to tell her the honest truth and not let her eat out her 
young heart in silence. My poor little girl ! how you must 
have suffered, to make you disbelieve in God and every- 
thing. My poor, sweet child ! My fair, tender lily, who 
never can be mine, even in thought, if I cannot make you 
happy in my own way, I will at least try to make you happy 
in yours. But if I find him, and he rejects her love, or 
accepts it and requites her badly, I believe I should turn 
into a second Cain and kill the reptile where he lay.” 

He had muttered the last words half aloud, and they re- 
called him to himself. 


i88 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Nice thoughts for a parson,” he said, with a grim smile, 
as he opened a drawer and thrust Mr. Bryanstone’s portrait 
out of view. “ What would my dear old mother say about 
my ‘ sacred calling,’ if she overheard me. Well ! it is a 
hard task, but I will go through with it. I have allowed my- 
self to be betrayed into a weakness for which I may suffer — 
nay ! I know I shall suffer, to the last day of my life ; for, 
try as I may, I shall never, never forget her — my sweet 
girl ! — but there must be something radically wrong about 
me for such a calamity to overtake me unawares. Why 
was I not better on my guard ? Yet I never dreamed it 
possible, that at my age, and with my surroundings — well ! 
well ! it will not do to think of. God will doubtless fit my 
back to the burden. What would that dear single-hearted 
Solun think if he knew of the sinful thoughts I have per- 
mitted myself to cherish ? Ah ! I know. He would say. 
^ Here is a present to lay upon the Altar of your Lord.’ 
To give up Verena. Never to look upon her sweet face 
again — never to hear her voice. Oh, my God ! it would be 
too hard. I do not ask to win one thought from her that 
may not be lawfully my own as her appointed teacher, but 
never speak to her again — never, never, never — perhaps 
through all Eternity — could I bear it, could I bear it and 
live ? Besides she is not mine — God help me ! — to give. 
She belongs, heart and soul, to another man, the man I have 
promised to help her to find again. How could I give her 
up, without giving up my plighted word at the same time ? 
and I must keep my word — I must — I must. All I ask is 
to remain her friend, perhaps her helper and stay through 
life. It is not much — there is nothing wrong in it. I would 
not wrong her innocence and purity by a thought. God 
forbid ! But her friend I must be — I have promised to be, 
and a promise is sacred as a vow.” He paced up and down 
his study floor for several minutes in silent rumination, all 


PARSON JONES. 189 

his human nature in rebellion and temporizing with 
itself. 

“ How can I give God what is not mine ? ” he murmured. 
“ He led me to her : it would be cruel to desert the poor 
child now — just as that other brute did. It would destroy 
the last remnants of her belief forever.” 

As he paced and pondered thus, with folded arms, Parson 
Jones could almost have fancied that someone paced beside 
him. He heard no footstep, yet he seemed to feel a pres- 
ence there beside his own — a presence that did not alarm 
but soothed his perturbed spirit, without his consciousness 
of being soothed. And then a voice, as intangible as the 
presence, but as acutely felt, whispered in his ear, “ My son, 
give me thine heart.” 

Parson Jones halted in his pacing as that whisper fell on 
his mental hearing and colored deeply. 

“ My son, give me thine heart,” that heart which nature 
had just insisted must belong, in some shape or other, to 
Verena Shaw, for the space of a lifetime — that heart which 
held her image — which was suffering so keenly for her 
sake — someone wanted it, just as it was — full of sadness, 
and sinful thoughts, and broken resolutions — to put on his 
altar, to do as he chose with, to break, or heal as he saw 
fit — but to take and keep for the man who could not keep 
it for himself. And Parson Jones — with a burden lifted 
from his breast, to think that all the trouble he had been 
contemplating would be taken off his hands — answered the 
inaudible appeal with an audible sigh of relief and the 
broken words, “ I will ! ” 


96 


t^ARSON JONES. 


XIII. 

“ Bless my soul, Mr. Jones,” exclaimed Captain Jeffer- 
son, as he met the parson walking up the drive of Heddle- 
wick Manor, “ how ill you look ! ” 

David Jones did indeed look ill, much worse than any of 
his own people, accustomed as they were to his everyday 
appearance, had yet found out. The strong wrestlings 
which he had had with his inner man, the days and nights 
of striving after God in prayer, the horror he had con- 
ceived of himself and of his sin, had all left their mark 
upon his face and figure. His eyes were sunk, his cheeks 
hollow, and his long black coat seemed to hang 
loosely on his tall, gaunt form. His expression, too, was 
more stern and sorrowful than it had been of old, and the 
few white threads showed more distinctly in the thick clus- 
ters of his dark hair. Captain Jefferson was a kindly 
hearted man, and had always liked the parson into the bar- 
gain, so that he really felt shocked and grieved to see such 
a change in him. 

“What have you been doing to yourself, man ?” he went 
on ; “ why, you look ten years older since I saw you last. 
Have you been suffering in any way ? ” 

“I am quite well, thank you,” returned the parson, smil- 
ing ; “ a little tired perhaps ; I think the first days of autumn 
are always more or less trying, but otherwise I’m all right.” 

“ I don’t know what you call all right,” grumbled the 
captain, “ but you look all wrong to me. Why, you haven’t 
half the flesh on your bones that you had at our harvest 
home. What is Mrs. Jones about, not to have seen it, I 
wonder ! Hasn’t your mother said anything to you on the 
subject ? ” 

“ No, captain, and I hope you will not mention it should 


PARSON JONES. 


191 

you meet either of them. It would only frighten them, and 
there is really nothing the matter with me. I am a little 
over-worked, that is all. This parish is so scattered, and 
there has been a good deal of sickness of late.” 

Well, you ought to have a change, there’s no doubt of 
that. A man can’t live forever in the same place without 
feeling it. Let me see ! How many years have you been in 
Llanty-gollen ? ” 

“ Nearly ten,” replied the parson ; “ my little Mollie was 
born a few months before I got the appointment.” 

“And you’ve never had a change all that time?” said 
the captain. 

“ I haven’t required it, captain. I’ve been as hearty as 
possible — until the last few weeks,” he added slowly. 

“ Ah ! well, the last few weeks have done for you, 
Jones. I never saw a man so changed in so short a time. 
You’ll have to go away for a while, there’s no doubt 
of that.” 

“And leave my parish and wife .and children?” replied 
the parson interrogatively. “ Who would look after them 
during my absence ? No ! captain, it is not to be thought 
of. I don’t acknowledge that I am ill ; but if I am, I must 
get well the best way I can.” 

“ It’s our business to see to that,” said Captain Jefferson. 
“ I shall stir up the churchwardens about the matter at our 
next board. We can’t afford to lose you, Jones, you’re of 
too much value to the parish.” 

“ It is very kind of you to say so,” replied David Jones, 
faintly coloring, “ though I’m afraid the parish overrates 
my services.” 

“ Not a bit of it. We can all see the difference between 
you and the man whom you superseded. But now what do 
you say to going away for three months, if the bishop will 
let us provide a substitute for you ? ” 


192 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Impossible, my dear captain ! It would be very kind 
and generous on your part, but how would my wife and lit- 
tle ones live meanwhile? Added to that I have no money 
with which to go away.” 

“ I think it could be managed,” said his friend ; ‘‘ surely 
we might effect an exchange of parishes. Your looks dis- 
tress me, Jones — they do indeed — and something must be 
done to give you a little holiday. However, leave it to me, 
and I will see about it.” 

“ I should be much more obliged to you if you would drop 
the subject,” replied Parson Jones, “for I cannot leave 
Llanty-gollen, I cannot indeed ! ” 

“ Let’s say no more for the time being, then. Were you 
on your way to call on my wife ? ” 

“ No ! my business was more with Miss Shaw, who left 
something at our house yesterday, which I promised to 
deliver into her own hands.” 

“ Come along, then ! I think you will find her indoors. 
I am so much obliged Jo you and your wife for the kind- 
ness you have shown that poor girl. She is not very happy 
here, I am afraid. Mrs. Jefferson and she do not get on 
together. Indeed, her aunt seemed to take a dislike to 
Verena from the first day she came here, though wh}^ 
Heaven only knows, for it seems to me that a more inof- 
fensive girl never lived. You’ve seen a good deal of her 
lately, Jones. Now, tell me the honest truth, what is your 
candid opinion of her ?” 

“Of — of-7-Miss Shaw?” stammered the parson. 

“ Yes. Doesn’t she appear a nice girl to you ? modest 
and intelligent and amiable, eh ? ” 

“ Certainly. My wife and mother both say so, and my 
children are remarkably attached to her.” 

“Ah! that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Little children are 
excellent judges in such matters. But you would never 


PARSON JONES. 


193 


convince Mrs. Jefferson of the fact. There is nothing bad 
enough for the poor child in her eyes. I suppose it’s jeal- 
ousy. I can attribute it to nothing else. Its rather hard 
on me, though, that I can’t offer a home to my favorite 
sister’s child without her life being made miserable to her 
in consequence. But your kindness and Mrs. Jones’ have 
done much to mitigate the evil. Verena can never talk 
enough about you all ; and, if your wife could overhear what 
she says about you, why I’m afraid she would consider she 
had good cause to be jealous.” 

“ I am very glad,” replied the parson in a low voice, 
“that we have been able to do anything to make Llanty- 
gollen more pleasant to your niece. It is very amiable of 
her to say so. You know what the parsonage is : a poor 
place at the best ; but I know that my wife and children 
have always been charmed to have Miss Shaw’s society, and 
have missed her when she stayed away.” 

“ I am delighted to hear you say so, my dear fellow,” 
rejoined the captain, “ for I was just about to make a little 
proposition to you, and you have made my task easier. I 
don’t know if Verena has told you that her aunt intends to 
leave home for a month or six weeks, with her friends, 
Colonel Arbuthnott and Miss Abbott.” 

“ She did mention it, I believe.” 

“ Well, it’s the case, and she means to leave Verena behind 
at Heddlewick. Why she can’t take the girl with her, 
when she takes that objectionable woman Abbott, is a mys- 
tery to me. However, I am not allowed to have a voice in 
such matters. Mrs. Jefferson leaving home just now is also 
very inconvenient to me, but of course that is not of the 
slightest consequence. I have long been engaged to join a 
shooting party at Anstey Castle (Lord Marner’s place, you 
know), and I don’t want to give up my visit to him. But I 
will not leave Verena at the manor alone. The child is quite 


194 


PARSON JONES. 


low enough in spirits already, and I don’t know what she 
would become like, shut up in this big house all by herself, 
without even her stupid old uncle to bear her company. But 
if you think that Mrs. Jones would be so kind as to let her 
stay at the parsonage during my absence ” 

“ At the parsonage ! ” cried David Jones quickly. “ Oh, 
no ; it is impossible.” 

Captain Jefferson looked hurt. 

“ I am sorry I mentioned it,” he said, “ but I thought you 
liked the girl.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes, certainly ! Pray don’t mistake me, cap- 
tain, only — only — I don’t think Mrs. Jones has a spare 
bedroom just now.” 

“ Not the one young Blisset slept in, when we were so 
full last summer ? What have you done with it, then ? 
Turned it into a lumber room?” 

“Oh, that tiny place,” replied the parson, with much 
confusion. “That is not fit for a young lady.” 

“Any room will do for Verena,” said Captain Jefferson. 
“ She is so fond of you all, she would sleep in the pig-stye 
to share your family circle. When I told her of my plan 
just now, she was half frantic with delight at the idea. 
You mustn’t refuse me, Jones, you mustn’t indeed, for it 
will break her heart if you do, and she need be no trouble 
to yourself, you know. She will be quite content to play 
with the babies, or help Mrs. Jones with the puddings and 
pies all day. And as to ” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of the trouble ” said the parson. 

“As to the expense,” continued the captain, lowering his 
voice and speaking confidentially, “ don’t let that worry 
you. You must know that I would not allow Verena to 
accept your hospitality unless you let me pay for it. I 
know what it costs to keep a wife and family. But if you 
will extend your protection over the dear child during my 


PARSON JONES. 


195 


absence, and let her enjoy the society of your wife and 
children, why you’ll confer the greatest possible benefit, 
both on me and her.” 

The parson did not immediately answer, and he looked 
sadly troubled. 

Captain Jefferson, glancing up into his face, could not 
but see that. His rugged features were working strangely, 
and his huge frame seemed to shake with agitation. 

“ I am afraid I have asked too much of you,” observed 
his friend. “ I see you- do not like the plan. Perhaps I 
have been mistaken in imagining that you are on such 
friendly terms with Verena, and you do not think her pres- 
ence at the parsonage will add to the comfort of the family 
circle. If so, forgive me, and forget what I have said.”, 

“ No, no ! Captain Jefferson, I did not mean that. I did 
not, indeed ! But I must speak to my wife first. She is 
queen-regnant in our little household, and I should not 
like to give a definite answer to your proposal until I have 
consulted her.” 

“ Quite right, of course, and very natural. No one 
knows better than myself that the ladies like to have their 
own way in everything concerning the house affairs. But 
if Mrs. Jones is to be the umpire, I am not afraid that my 
dear Verena will be disappointed, for she told me after 
leaving your house yesterday that your wife had said how 
much she would like to keep her there always.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said the parson, with a forced smile that 
made his sad face look almost ludicrous, “ I dare say she 
would. I have heard her say so myself — I — I ” 

He stopped to draw forth his handkerchief and wipe off 
the sweat that streamed down his brow. Oh, what a 
dilemma poor dear Lina had, in her innocence, got him 
into ! What could he do or say to prevent this culminating 
trial from falling on his head ? Verena domiciled under 


196 


PARSON JONES. 


his roof-tree for days and weeks together ! Verena there 
at all times, whether he came in or went out — to see her at 
each meal — to see her sweet face the first thing in the 
morning, the last thing at night ! It would be too much — 
it made his brain reel to think of it. It was a terrible 
temptation, but one that at all risks he must put away from 
him, for he could not trust himself to meet it. 

“ I will speak to my wife as soon as I reach home and let 
you know what she says about it. Captain Jefferson, and if 
she does not see her way to receiving Miss Shaw during 
your absence, I hope you will attribute it to any motive 
rather than disinclination. For she has the utmost regard 
for her — she has indeed ! ” 

By this time they had reached the entrance of Heddle- 
wick Manor, and in the porch stood Verena, who had evi- 
dently been watching their approach from the house. She 
was smiling too, and looking far more cheerful than was 
her wont. 

“Ah ! here you two lazy things are at last ! ” she said. 
“ I thought you were never going to reach the house. What 
have you been talking about all this time ? Have you made 
your delightful proposal yet to Mr. Jones, Uncle Hal ? ” 

“ I have, Verena, but you mustn’t be too sanguine, my 
dear. Mr. Jones is not sure that his wife will see her way 
to taking you in as a boarder during my absence, but never 
mind ! if it turns out so I will postpone my visit to Anstey 
Castle until your aunt returns.” 

“When all the shooting will probably be over. No! 
uncle dear, you shan’t do that. I would much rather stay 
here alone. But I’m awfully disappointed — awfully.” 
continued Verena, with a little falter. Parson Jones could 
not stand that falter. It made her voice sound so much 
like that of a child. He glanced to where she stood, lean- 
ing against a pillar of the porch. Her white gown, unre- 


PARSON JONES. 


197 


lieved by any color, except that afforded by a spray of late 
roses at her throat, was simplicity itself, and her large 
brown eyes were gleaming through their long lashes just 
like a child’s, so full of entreaty, so void of self-conscious- 
ness, that he felt if she wished to go to the parsonage, she 
should go, if it broke his heart to see her there. 

“I thought,” she said, looking him full into his face, 
that you would not make a stranger of me, but put me any- 
where. I won’t be the least trouble, dear Mr. Jones, I 
won’t indeed, and I can sleep with Mollie or anybody — I 
don’t care, it is all the same to me.” 

“ With the pigs, won’t you, my girl, if you can only get 
to your* beloved parsonage?” interposed the captain 
jocosely. 

“ No ! Uncle Hal ! not quite that, but next door to it, if 
I can only spend the time of your absence with Mrs. Jones. 
Will you ask her for me, Mr. Jones ? Will you beg and 
pray of her to be so good as to find a little corner for me in 
the dear parsonage ? And tell her I will be so quiet and 
never disturb either of you the least bit, but stick to my 
books and painting all day. Oh, it would be so sweet. 
Do say yes. Do ! Do! ” 

She caught one of the parson’s hands in hers as she 
spoke and looked up pleadingly into his face with her 
liquid eyes. He could not say her nay. She was too 
sweet, too lovely, and he loved her too much. But, as he 
consented to try and arrange the matter with Selina, he 
knew that he had signed the warrant of his own expatria- 
tion. 

“ If you really wish it so much. Miss Shaw,” he answered, 
“ I will try and settle it with my wife. You will not be 
going at once, I suppose,” he added to the captain. 

No ! not for another fortnight, at least,” was the reply ; 
“ but come in and see Mrs. Jefferson. She will haul me 


1 98 PARSON JONES. 

over the coals if I let you go again, without paying your 
respects to her.” 

Captain Jefferson walked into the house as he spoke, and 
Parson Jones took the opportunity to return the photograph 
to Verena Shaw, She received it with a vivid blush. 

“What do you think of him,” she whispered. “Is he 
not handsome ? Did I say too much ? ” 

“ No ! I suppose not. I can see that he is very good- 
looking. And I will believe all that you say good of him, 
until I find out that he is the contrary.” 

“ Dear generous friend, I was sure you would. It is 
not in your nature to think evil. But now I suppose I 
must deliver you over to Mrs. Jefferson, or else I'shall get 
into another scrape.” 

“ I would so much rather go home,” said the parson, 
deliberating on the doorstep ; “ I don’t want to see her or 
anybody to-day. I have several calls to pay.” 

But the man who deliberates is lost, as well as the 
woman ; and, as the words left Parson Jones’ lips, Mrs. 
Jefferson came into the hall and caught him. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Jones,” she cried, “ what a time it is since we 
met. You have been very naughty to stay away so long 
from the manor. And Miss Abbott has been so anxious to 
see a little more of you.” 

“ Miss Abbott ? ” echoed the parson, “ what on earth 
should she want to see me for ? I have only set eyes on 
her once.” 

“ Well ! she knows everybody I do believe that ever was 
born, and knowing the high standard I set up for myself 
(and, I hope, strictly adhere to), she would naturally think 
that the minister of the parish would be more at my house 
than at that of any other lady.” 

“ But since your standard is so high,” replied Parson 
Jones, unable to refrain from having a sly dig at her. 


PARSON JONES. 199 

“ surely you must need my ministrations less than other 
people, Mrs. Jefferson.” 

The lady tossed her head. 

“ I did not mean you to take my words exactly in that 
sense, Mr. Jones. What I mean to say is, that one would 
naturally imagine, that at a house where so very high a 
standard is religiously maintained ” 

“ The parson of the parish would go to take a lesson 
on his duties,” said David Jones, smiling. But Mrs. Jeffer- 
son neither smiled nor frowned. 

“ I don’t go so far as that,” she replied, without an idea 
that he was laughing at her vanity, “but still 1 consider 
there is no house in Llanty-gollen where you could find 
company more congenial to your tastes.” 

“ Except my own,” he answered bluntly. “ You are very 
good to wish to see me, Mrs. Jefferson, and if you, or any 
of your household, needed me I hope you know how will- 
ingly I would come. But I do not care for society ; I have 
not been used to it, and the older I grow the more I seem 
to shrink from it.” 

“ Yet you appear to have taken very kindly to Verena’s 
society, Mr. Jones. I hear she is always at the parsonage. 
I trust she does not worry Mrs. Jones. The constant 
presence of a young girl is not always appreciated by a 
married lady who generally has her hands full without 
attending to visitors.” 

The parson could not quite discern whether this speech 
was intended for a covert sarcasm or not, but he saw that 
it annoyed Verena, so he hastened to refute it. 

“ In the case of my wife, I can assure you that you are 
quite mistaken, Mrs. Jefferson. She has a sincere affec- 
tion for Miss Shaw, and finds great pleasure in her society. 
I am sure that Mrs. Jones has never looked on Miss Shaw 
as a stranger, and that she would be the first to grieve if 


200 


PARSON JONES. 


anything happened to deprive us of her companionship. 
Indeed, the captain has just arranged with me that, as you 
are going to leave home, and he wishes to do the same, 
Miss Shaw shall stay with my wife during his absence, a 
plan in which I know I shall have the heartiest co-oper- 
ation from her.” 

“ How very strange that Captain Jefferson should speak 
to you about such a thing without first consulting me,” 
said the lady ; “ most people would have said that 1 was the 
proper person to make the arrangements for a young lady’s 
comfort, but then Captain Jefferson never did and never 
will understand what his duties are toward the wife of his 
bosom. Ah ! Mr. Jones, doubtless know what trouble 
is as well as others, for the Lord seldom leaves his chil- 
dren without some wound to remember him by. And the 
heart knoweth its own bitterness.” 

‘‘I cannot altogether agree with you, Mrs. Jefferson. I 
think, on the contrary, that the Lord does not wish us to be 
afflicted at all ; and that, when we are, we have generally 
brought it on ourselves by neglecting our duty. Better 
look round and find out where we have failed, than lay our 
self-inflicted troubles on the Lord. But I am pressed for 
time and must wish you good-by.” 

“ Oh, won’t you come in for a minute and see Miss 
Abbott ? ” 

“Ko, thank you. To tell the truth, the lady does not 
interest me. I don’t understand her mission, nor her mode 
of working for it.” 

“You mean that she is not young and beautiful, nor 
would she make an interesting convert. But, as for not 
understanding her mission, I don’t think you have taken 
much trouble to do so. However, 1 have, and I appreci- 
ate her efforts into the bargain.” 

“ I am glad of that. I hope she will prove grateful for all 


PARSON JONES. 


201 


the kindness you have shown her. Good-by once more. 
Good-by, Miss Shaw ; ” and, with a wave of the hand, he 
was gone. 

“ I consider that Mr. Jones is growing very impertinent 
in his remarks,” said Mrs. Jefferson, as she looked after 
him. “ What right has he to speak to me in such a tone ? 
As if anything I chose to do was open to his correction. 
He may be the parson of the parish, but that gives him 
no right to censure the actions of a woman with so high a 
standard as myself. It is all very well for him to speak to 
a girl like you, but I call his lecturing me a great imperti- 
nence, and I am sure every properly disposed person would 
say the same. Pray, has Mr. Jones taken you to task in 
this very off hand manner, Verena?” But on looking 
round, Mrs. Jefferson found that Verena was already out 
of sight ; so, much aggrieved, she went into the drawing 
room to confide her troubles to Miss Abbott. 

And David Jones, the while, was wending his way to his 
parochial duties. But, hard as he tried to fix his mind 
entirely on the matters in hand, he felt very dissatisfied on 
a retrospection of his day’s work with himself, for he was 
quite unable to keep his thoughts from wandering to the 
substance of Mrsi Jefferson’s discourse, and wondering 
what she had meant by her innuendoes concerning young 
and pretty and interesting converts. Was it possible that 
she, or anyone, suspected the interest he took in Verena, or 
had dared to question the purity of his motives concerning 
her ? The mere idea made him grow hot and uncomfort- 
able. He knew the innocence of their intercourse well 
enough, but he also knew the state of his own feelings 
regarding her, and his guilty conscience made him fear. 
The village gossips were, as a rule, so scandalous, and he 
would have died sooner than cast, by any deed of his, the 
slightest taint upon the snowy whiteness of her fair young 


202 


PAJ^SON JONES. 


life. And if it were true that people had already observed 
that Verena was oftener at the parsonage than the other 
young ladies of Llanty-gollen, what would ill-natured 
tongues say when they heard she had taken up her abode 
there ? He and Selina so seldom entertained a visitor, 
indeed they could not afford to do so ; and, with the excep- 
tion of young Mr. Blisset, to whom Captain Jefferson had 
alluded, no stranger had slept at the parsonage since he 
had occupied it. Not that David Jones had any intention 
of remaining in Llanty-gollen while Miss Shaw was his 
wife’s guest. He could not do it, he told himself. In the 
first place, the ordeal would be one long agony to him — in 
the second, he dared not encounter the temptation her 
presence would throw in his way. God only knew, if he 
saw her every day, and day after day, what madness might 
not fill his brain and upset his reason — what wild words he 
might not be urged on to say — words which he could never 
recall, and which would leave an indelible stain upon his 
soul. How he was to leave his wife, and his parish, and 
his children, he was totally at a loss to understand ; but that 
it must be done — of that he had no doubt. And as he 
walked along the flowering lanes, his heart kept on lifting 
itself up to God in prayer — a prayer as simple as that of a 
little child. “ Oh, my Father,” said Parson Jones, “ I must 
go : find thou the way ! I must go : find thou the way 5” 
He reached home rather later than usual that night, and 
his wife met him on the threshold with the news that Dr. 
Rowley, the parish doctor, was waiting to see him. 

“ Dr. Rowley ! ” exclaimed the parson, “ what does he 
want with me ? Nobody hi extremis^ I hope.” 

“I don’t know, dear, he did not say so. Fie only asked 
for you, and he has been waiting the best part of an hour 
to see you.” 

“ I am sorry,” said her husband, “ and I have been 


PARSON JONES. 203 

walking home so slowly too. I had no idea that I was 
wanted.” 

He entered his little study with a hearty outstretched 
hand, for the doctor was one of the few men he liked in 
Llanty-gollen. 

' ‘‘ How are you, doctor ? So glad to see you, and so sorry 
to have kept you waiting. Is anything wrong ? Am I 
wanted in the parish ? ” 

“ Not at all, my dear Jones. I only looked in for a chat. 
It is quite an age since we met. But what’s all this excite- 
ment about ? Why, your pulses are going like sledge- 
hammers. Have you been overexerting yourself lately, 
or don’t you feel well ? ” 

“Neither one nor the other, doctor, thank you. I’m as 
right as a trivet, and never felt better in my life.” 

“ Then I’m sorry for your life, my dear friend ; for, to my 
mind, you’re anything but all right. Why, your nerves 
are anyhow ! You’re twitching all over like an hysterical 
woman. What have you been doing to yourself ? What 
have you been eating, and drinking, and reading, and writ- 
ing lately ? ” 

“ Nothing more than usual, I assure you. Pudding, and 
beef, and beer — the Englishman’s national food and drink 
— mooning over my stupid old sermons, and reading the 
musty old books that I have read a dozen times before.” 

“ That’s just it ! That’s what’s disagreeing with you. 
No man can afford to spend all his life without any variety. 
Jones, my dear fellow, you are ill, and you’ll have to go 
away.” 

The parson stared at this address, which was .a copy of 
the captain's. 

“ Nonsense ! ” he exclaimed, baring his muscular arm 
and stretching it out for the doctor’s inspection. “ Feel that 
biceps ! Does that look like being ill ? ” 


204 


PARSON JONES. 


“ I don’t want to feel your arm, man,” replied Dr. Row- 
ley ; “ your body’s right enough, 1 daresay, but it’s your 
mind and your nerves that are out of gear. You’ve been 
going on at this treadmill work now for about a dozen 
years without any change, and you’ve come to the end of 
your tether and must look after yourself. You must have 
rest and change or you’ll break down. That’s my pre- 
scription and you must take it.” 

“ But, my dear doctor,” replied the parson, with conster- 
nation, “ you can’t think what you are saying. Rest and 
change are all very well for those men who can afford to 
take them, but you know I can’t. How can I leave my ap- 
pointed work ? Who is to fill my place ? And even if I 
could do so, where is the money to come from ? You know 
my circumstances, and the ridiculous stipend I receive for 
my work. And, if I give it up, what are my wife and chil- 
dren to do ? Who will support them ? You must see that 
your prescription, though so kindly meant, is totally out of 
the question. You might as well recommend me to become 
the Archbishop of Canterbury at once.” 

“If you don’t do as I tell you, Jones, your family will 
have to shift altogether for themselves before long. I tell 
you, man, that you are in a dangerous condition. Your 
bodily strength has nothing to do with it. Your nerves 
are breaking down, and if you don’t take means to re- 
cuperate them, you’ll either die or go into a lunatic 
asylum.” 

“ Good God ! ” said Parson Jones, as he flung himself 
in a chair and buried his face in his hands. 

“ I have no wish to pry into your secrets, my dear friend,” 
continued Dr. Rowley, “but I cannot help seeing that you 
have undergone some terrible mental strain lately, some- 
thing that has been too much for you altogether. I am 
shocked at your condition. I am indeed, and, instead of 


PARSON JONES. 


205 


saying that a change is an impossibility to you, it would be 
wiser to sit down and deliberately plan how it can best be 
carried out.” 

“ I know of no way,” .said David Jones, despairingly, “ I 
have no friends and no funds. I am the poorest man in all 
the world, I think — except for my poor little children,” he 
added, in a lower voice, but his companion heard him. 

“ Blessed is the man who hath his quiver full of them,” 
laughed Dr. Rowley. “ Well ! they’re rather in the way 
at a moment like this, but I daresay you’ll live to thank 
Heaven for their superabundance yet.” 

“ Oh, I have — I do,” replied the parson. 

“ Have you no friend from whom you could raise a loan ?” 
demanded the doctor presently. 

The thought of Ernest Solun, and the offer he had made 
in his letter, rushed into David Jones’ mind, and something 
like a gleam of hope came into his eyes. But the next 
moment, he remembered the promise he had made to hery 
and he laid his head down upon the table again with a 
groan. 

“ To procure a substitute for your work will be easy 
enough,” said Dr. Rowley ; “ there are scores of poor, 
fagged, and debilitated parsons like yourself, who would 
jump at the offer of a couple of months’ change to Llanty- 
gollen. But, unless Mrs. Jones would admit them to the 
parsonage, there might be a difficulty about their getting 
houseroom here. However there’s time to think about 
that. The first thing you have to do is to make up your 
mind that a change is inevitable. And, look here, my dear 
friend, I’m not a Croesus exactly, but still I have an old 
stocking stored away somewhere ; and, if funds for traveling, 
etc., are the obstacle, why you may draw on me to the full 
extent of my modest means.” 

^ The parson bent his head still lower on the table, while 


2o6 


PARSON JONES. 


the tears oozed through the closed fingers of his hand. 
The doctor turned his head the other way and pretended 
not to see his emotion ; and, after a few more words of 
warning, he got up and left the house. 

“ Knocked all to bits, poor fellow ! ” he said to himself, 
as he took his way homeward ; “the captain didn’t send me 
to him an hour too soon. Now I wonder what he has 
been doing, or thinking, or fretting over to produce such a 
marvelous change in so short a time. Jones, of all men in 
the world, the most tranquil, contented, happy-go-lucky 
fellow I ever knew. If it had been Jefferson himself, I 
should have said he had been going it too hard in every 
way, — but Jones ! — Well, it’s a mystery, but it’s a fact, 
that he’s nearly worked himself into a nervous fever. I 
wonder if is he troubled with religious doubts. I never 
thought him much of an enthusiast in religion. It's always 
either religion or love that shakes a man’s nerves like 
that. And love — oh, if that placid Mrs. Jones could read 
my thoughts, I shouldn’t have a hair left on my head. 
Fancy that dear, honest, unimaginative man having any- 
thing to do with that naughty god. It would be too funny ; 
no, no, if it’s anything but liver, it’s religion ; but I really 
did not believe he had it in him to feel deeply even about 
that. Poor fellow, there’s no doubt he must go away, if I 
pay for his journey myself. But Captain Jefferson will 
manage it. He seemed greatly concerned about him. 
He’ll worry the commissioners into making a grant for 
him, if any man can do it.” 

And Parson Jones was worrying himself, meanwhile, to 
think how he should ever summon up courage to break the 
awful truth to his mother and Lina. What would they 
think and say ? What questions might they not ask when 
they heard he had been ordered to do such an unpre- 
cedented thing as leave Llanty-gollen ? Would they guess 


PARSON JONES. 


207 


the reason — women were so sharp-sighted — that he had 
fallen ill ? Would they connect his broken health with the 
visits of Verena to the parsonage ? It was only his accus- 
ing conscience, of course, that suggested such an absurd 
idea to his mind ; but the supposition made him shiver with 
apprehension as much as though it were real. But the 
thought of Verena at the parsonage brought another in its 
train. What was it he had been saying to himself that very 
evening as he went on his parish rounds ? What was the 
prayer he had put up to God as he walked slowly home- 
ward ? “ My God, find thou the way.” And this was the 

answer. He had found the way. As this conviction 
pressed itself on the mind of Parson Jones, he felt his heart 
swell with gratitude and his soul fill with courage, and he 
rose from his chair and went at once to find his wife and 
mother. 


XIV. 

The two women, so utterly unconscious of the struggle 
that was passing through the mind of their beloved David, 
were only anxious to hear what business Dr. Rowley could 
possibly have had with him. 

What a time the doctor stayed, dear ! ” exclaimed Selina 
as he entered the room. “ Grandmamma and I thought he 
was never going ! And I have such a nice supper for you, 
too. Guess what it is, David ! ” 

“ Never mind the supper just now, Lina,” replied the 
parson, “ I have a matter of some importance to speak to 
you and mother about.” 

“ Oh, but, David, it's tripe, and it will get so cold,” cried 
Lina, in a tone of disappointment. 

“Put it by the kitchen fire, then, until we are ready,” 
said Parson Jones determinately. “My mind is full of 


2o8 


PARSON JONES. 


what I have to say to you both, and I cannot eat until I 
have disburdened myself.” 

“ Do as your husband tells you at once, Selina,” said the 
old lady authoritatively, and Selina carried the fragrant 
dish away to be kept warm, with many an inward doubt if 
it would not be spoilt in the process. Meanwhile Mary 
Jones was regarding her son inquisitively over her spec- 
tacles. When she came to look closely at David, he cer- 
tainly seemed graver and more thoughtful than usual ; 
but that anything but parish matters could be of the slight- 
est consequence to him never crossed her mind for a 
moment. 

“ What is the matter, my dear son ?” she commenced, as 
soon as his wife had rejoined them. “I trust there has 
been no difference of opinion between the churchwardens ? 
Anything like a squabble between those who share the 
precious trust of the Lord’s work always seems so painful 
to me.” 

“ No, mother, I have not seen the churchwardens since 
our last meeting, when everything went smoothly. Indeed, 
I do not remembbr to have had a difference of opinion 
with them since I took charge of the parish.” 

“ That is as it should be, my dear,” returned the old lady, 
in a gratified tone ; “but still the churchwardens are only 
lay brethren, and I have known cases in which they have 
made themselves very obnoxious to their minister.” 

“ They will never do that with me, mother, and for a very 
good reason, that I consider their offices to be so com- 
pletely outside religion, that I should not dream of dis- 
pLiting their decision. No, what I want to speak to you 
and Lina about is utterly irrevelant to parish matters. It 
is what Rowley was talking to me about just now. I am 
afraid I shall startle you both, but it is not my doing. It 
can hardly startle you more than it has done me, yet ” 


PARSON- JONES. 


209 


“ Oh, my dear David,” exclaimed his mother, in a voice 
of alarm, “surely it has nothing to do with the bishop. He 
is not vexed with you for anything? He does not dis- 
approve of your mode of instructing your catechumens ? 
He is not thinking of removing you from Llanty-gollen in 
favor of someone else ? ” 

“ No, no, mother, don’t alarm yourself. I am not aware 
that I have transgressed the ecclesiastical laws in any way ; 
and, as for removing me from Llanty-gollen, I only wish he 
would, so long as he gave me another cure.” 

“ My dear son, whatever can you mean ? ” 

“ Simply this, mother, that I am ill and Rowley says it is 
quite necessary that I should go away. Now the murder’s 
out, and the only thing to do is to consult together how 
such a result can possibly be brought about.” 

“ Go away .' ” repeated Mrs. Jones, in a tone of voice as 
if she had never heard of such a thing as change of air in 
her life before. “ Go away ! But why ? What for ? If 
you are ill, my dear, we must take every means to relieve 
you, but what is the use of going away ? ” 

“ Have you never heard of change of air and scene being 
prescribed for a sick man, mother ? ” 

“ Not when he lives in such an air as this,” replied the 
old lady, “and not when he has a mother and wife to look 
after all his comforts.” 

“ I know of course that the air of Llanty-gollen is as fine 
as you can find anywhere, and that you and Lina are good- 
ness itself to me. Still that is Rawley’s ultimatum, and he 
will not swerve from it. He declares that my nerves are all 
unstrung, and that it is imperative I should go away with- 
out delay. I told him, naturally, that I did not wish to 
leave home ; indeed, that as far as I could see at present it 
is an impossibility. But he says that if I neglect his advice 
he will not answer for the consequences ; so, if only for the 


210 PARSON JONES. 

sake of Lina and the little ones, I am bound to carry out 
his wishes.” 

But how will you do it?” demanded his mother. It 
was a strange anomaly, that fondly as Mary Jones lov^d 
her son, and much as she would have sacrificed of her own 
convenience to make him happy, she had taken umbrage at 
the interference of Dr. Rowley, perhaps because he had 
given his opinion straight to the parson instead of to her, 
and was in the humor to dispute everything that he had 
said. 

“ That is what I do not know,” replied her son rather 
sadly. “ I have thought over the matter from every point 
of view but cannot come to any conclusion. Rowley spoke 
of an exchange, and considers it a feasible plan. But that 
would entail Lina receiving my substitute into the parson- 
age, as there are, as you know, no apartments to be had in 
the village.” 

“You would leave your young wife to entertain a stran- 
ger during your absence from home, without the sanctity 
of your presence and protection,” cried Mary Jones in a 
voice of horror. “ I cannot believe my ears ! Why, such a 
thing would have been considered a scandal in my day, and 
I should consider it so now. You, the father and husband 
of your family, away for weeks, perhaps months, and your 
innocent wife and children left alone all that time with a 
stranger of whom you know nothing ! I never heard of 
such a proposal in all my life before.” 

“ But you would be here to look after them for me, 
mother, surely. And how could they come to any harm ? 
Do you suppose that I cannot trust Lina to conduct herself 
properly even if it were my misfortune to have to leave her 
alone with a regiment of soldiers ? You talk as if the un- 
fortunate man who is to be my substitute were a wolf in 
sheep’s clothing.” 


PARSON JONES, 


2il 

It would not have been considered a proper proposal 
in my day,” said his mother, “ but then everything seems 
altered since my day. I am sure your dear father would 
as soon have thought of separating his skin from his body 
as parting from his lawful wife if only for a day.” 

“ Oh, mother, you are unfair to me. Do you suppose for 
a moment that I would go anywhere without Selina if I 
could avoid it ? Do you suppose I am going on this trip 
(if I do go) for my own pleasure ? Why, the idea of it is 
making me miserable. But I know — I have felt for some 
time past, that I am not myself, not quite what I used to 
be ; and, since my life is valuable to my family, I thought it 
was my duty to sit down and consult with you how the 
doctor’s advice could best be carried out.” 

At this juncture, Selina cast herself headlong into her 
husband’s arms and burst into a noisy flood of tears. 

“ Oh, my dearest David ! ” she cried, “ my darling hus- 
band ! you are dying, I am sure of it ; and, when you leave 
Llanty-gollen, I shall never see you again. Oh, don’t leave 
me behind ! Take me and the children with you. Don’t 
go away to die all by yourself ! Don’t, David, or you will 
break my heart.” 

The parson folded her kindly in his arms and kissed 
away the tears from her streaming face. 

“ You are making too much of it, my dear,” he said. “ I 
am not dying just yet, at least I don't think so, but Rowley 
says my nerves are shattered and my bodily health will fol- 
low suit, if I do not obey his orders. You know how much 
I should like to take you all away for a change, my dear, 
but that is out of the question. I don’t know how I am to 
get away myself yet. But I thought it only right to let you 
and mother hear what he said at once.” 

Mary Jones, who was working herself up into a bad tem- 
per, simply because the news of her son’s health had upset 


PA/:soAr joAr£S. 


her, became jealous of the close embrace in which the hus- 
band and wife were locked. 

“ Selina ! ” she exclaimed sharply, “ please to return to 
your chair, and let me hear what Dr. Rowley says is the 
matter with my son. I have at least an equal right with 
yourself to be informed of the misfortune that appears to 
be hanging over us. You may be David’s wife, but a wife 
is not everything in this world, and my son has not been in 
the habit of forgetting that I brought him into it.” 

The parson put Lina gently away from him, and leaving 
his seat, went and took one by his mother. 

“ Neither do I forget it now, mother ! ” he said sweetly, 
and this contemplated change is as much a trouble to me 
as it can be to you. I was not the one to think of it or 
propose it, but it seems that my friends have been watching 
me more closely than I have been watching myself, and it 
was Captain Jefferson who sent Rowley up to speak to me 
this evening.” 

“Captain Jefferson!” repeated the old woman suspi- 
ciously, “ are you quite sure, David, that Captain Jefferson is 
not designing to get you to tread the same downward path 
as himself ? He is not a pious man, and a dangerous friend 
for you. Be careful, my son, I implore you, for your soul’s 
sake.” 

The parson almost laughed aloud at this conceit. 

“ My dear old mother ! you are so fond of a mare’s nest. 
I don’t suppose that the captain would be seen with me in 
any of his own haunts, if that is what you mean. And you 
might have a better opinion of me than to suspect I would 
accompany him. Let me assure you that his interest in 
my health was purely disinterested. He thought I was 
looking ill, and proposed to me to leave Llanty-gollen for a 
little while and see what change would do for me.” 

“ But are you ill, my son,” inquired the old lady cur- 


PJJ^SOJV /ojvms. 


513 

iously, “what are your symptoms ? Have you any pains? 
Your strength does not seem diminished tome, and your 
appetite is surely just the same as it always has been.” 

“ Oh, no, grandmamma !” interposed Selina, “ you are mis- 
taken there. David has had hardly any appetite for some 
weeks past. I am sure sometimes he has not eaten enough 
to feed a fly. I have noticed it, haven’t I, David dear ? 
indeed it made me feel quite wretched.” 

“ And pray, Selina, why was /not informed that my son 
did not eat as usual ?” demanded the mother with much 
dignity. “ Am 1 of so little consequence in the household, 
that what he does, or says, is to be withheld from my 
knowledge ? Am I supposed to be so indifferent to his 
interests and welfare that it is of no moment to me if he 
lives or dies ? If that is the case, the sooner I go to a home 
of my own, perhaps, the better.” 

“ Now, mother, pray let us have no quarreling over the 
matter, or I shall be sorry I ever introduced it. And ex- 
cuse me for saying that I think you are unjust to Lina. If 
you could not see for yourself that my appetite and spirits 
have been somewhat affected by the state of my nerves 
lately, you can hardly blame her for a reticence which may 
have been dictated by a regard for your feelings. But I 
blame neither of you. It is a well-known fact that the 
members of one’s household are always the last to perceive 
the change in a man, simply because it comes on so imper- 
ceptibly, and they see him every day.” 

“ But what has caused this change in your health, 
David ? ” asked Mary Jones. This was the question which 
the parson had been dreading, for he could not say he did 
not know, without telling a lie, and he would have died be- 
fore he would have disclosed the truth. He pondered a 
moment before he replied. 

“ Rowley says I am suffering from a complete prostration 


214 


PARSON JONES. 


of the nervous system, that I am in the condition of an 
hysterical woman, and that nothing but a change of scene 
and air will cure me. It was no use my asking him to 
explain what it came from. His decision was that it is there 
and no medicine will touch it. And I have prayed over 
the matter, mother, and I earnestly believe it is God’s will 
that I should leave Llanty-gollen for a while and try the 
remedies pointed out to me.” 

“ But why leave Llanty-gollen ? ” persisted the old lady. 
“ Where can you find another air so bracing as this ? 
Where meet with the same care and affection in sickness as 
would be afforded you by your wife and myself ? ” 

“ Nowhere ! I am sure of that ! But perhaps it is your 
very care and attention that Rowley wants me to give up 
fora while. Perhaps he thinks I shall be the more likely to 
rouse myself without them. And after all, mother, you 
know that I am thirty-five years old, and in all that time, 
except when I was at Cambridge, I have never been out of 
Wales ; and, in these days of constant moving about, that 
does seem a strange thing.” 

‘‘ Why should it seem a strange thing,” echoed Mary 
Jones, “ your dear father and I were both born and married 
in Ponty-pool and he lies buried there, and I would have 
stayed to lay my bones beside him, had not a greater duty 
called me to follow your footsteps. I don’t understand all 
this modern talk about the necessity of change of air. I 
believe it is nonsense and the doctors only prescribe it 
because they see their patients are restless and uneasy 
unless they minister to their love of excitement.” 

“ Well ! I don’t think you can accuse me of having run 
after excitement during my lifetime, my dear mother,” 
replied the parson with a quaint little smile ; “ I suppose 
there never was a man who led a quieter life than I have 
among my flowers and my babies.” 


PARSON JONES. 


215 


Yes, indeed ! ” chimed in Selina, with a courage born of 
love, “ and I think you are really unkind, grandmamma, to 
throw so much cold water on the idea of dear David going 
away for a while when the doctor says it will do him good. 
When has he ever thought of himself before ? He has spent 
the best years of his life in this grubby little place, with no 
one better to speak to than you and me and the children, and 
now that he is done-up, poor darling, and requires change, 
you talk of it as if he contemplated a crime. David dear ! 
do go. I don’t mind what I do so long as you get quite 
well and happy again. Let the substitute come to the par- 
sonage. He can have the room that Mr. Blissett had last 
year, or I will take the children into our room and turn the 
nursery into a bedroom for him. It will be no trouble ; and, 
if it were, you know I would do anything in the world to 
see you well again.” 

She raised her homely, honest face to her husband’s as 
she concluded ; and he, remembering what it was that had 
brought him to this pass, thought it looked like the face of 
an angel. Old Mrs. Jones, too, suddenly called to a sense 
of how selfishly she had received the proposal of her son’s 
departure, began to cry silently, while she wished she had 
not left it to the despised Selina to teach her her duty. 

‘‘My dear wife ! ” exclaimed David Jones,“if you only 
knew the comfort your words give me, you would not regret 
them. Believe me I wish to leave Llanty-gollen (since 
they tell me I cannot get well here) as much, nay more, for 
your sake than my own. What would you and our dear 
bairns do, if I were taken, or became unfit for my work ? 
The idea desolated me. When Dr. Rowley had convinced 
me he was in earnest, I felt that at all risks it must be done. 
And I hope it will not be long — two months at the outside, 
before I am with you again. Meanwhile I know my chil- 
dren are safe with the tenderest of mothers, and I shall be 


PARSON JONES. 


2 l6 

happy in thinking so. Your words have comforted me, my 
dear, more than anything else has done." 

‘‘ Oh, my son, forgive me," cried poor old Mary Jones. 
“ I have been wrong : I- see it now, and it has been left for 
our dear Selina to teach me a lesson. But your communi- 
cation came as a shock to me. We have never been sepa- 
rated, you see, except while you were at college, and then I 
had your dear father to console me, and so I thought per- 
haps we should never be. But it was all selfishness, my 
dear, and I am sorry for it, and wish I had thought less of 
myself and more of you. But if you tmist leave us where 
will you go ? Not to London, I hope, the modern Babylon. 
It would be like putting your head into the very mouth of 
the lion." 

“ Well, dear mother ! I suppose all that will be decided 
for me. I am not going on a trip of pleasure, remember. 
Wherever I- go/ I shall have to work, doubtless much 
harder than I do at home ; and London is the likeliest 
place to find a man who would wish to have a couple of 
months in the country." 

“ For my part, I hope David will go to London," said 
Selina, “because it will be such a complete change for him 
from here. He has never been there and it would amuse you, 
wouldn’t it, David, to see all the shops and the people ? " 

“ I suppose so, my dear," replied the parson languidly. 

“ David, why don’t you write to George Bates, and tell 
him all about your illness, and ask his advice ; perhaps he 
may know of a clergyman who would like to change with 
you.” 

“ Well done, little woman ! " exclaimed the parson. 
“ That’s the best idea I’ve had yet. Why, of course, dear 
old George will be the person to apply to. I shouldn’t be 
surprised if he would like the change for himself. I will 
write to him before I go to bed to-night." 


par^om jomes. 


2T7 


As the thought of being domiciled in London came into 
Parson Jones’ head, he thought also of the promise he had 
made to Verena Shaw, and what she had told him long since 
of her father living in Queen’s Gate. If he could get the old 
gentleman’s ear, and interest him in his daughter’s fate, 
what a triumph it would be to see them reconciled. And 
who so fit as her own father to take charge, as it were, of 
her love affair, and bring her defaulting lover to book ? 
The prospect raised a gleam of hopeful expectation in the 
parson’s eyes. 

“ Why, David, you are looking better already for the 
very thought of London, I do declare,” remarked his wife. 
“ Oh, I am sure it will do you good. I shall be quite 
impatient till you are there. But how sorry Verena will 
be to hear that you are going away. I really believe that 
girl loves you, David.’* 

‘‘As her minister, Selina,” interposed Mary Jones. 

“ Of course, as her minister. How could she love him as 
anything else, when he is a married man ? Besides, I often 
think that Verena has a love affair of her own. She sighs 
so deeply sometimes when she thinks no one is listening. 
And she told me one day that she should never marry — 
that she had had her chance and missed it. But that is all 
nonsense. She is too pretty to remain an old maid, don’t 
you think so, David ? ” 

The parson grew rather red as he replied : 

“ Marriage is not of our seeking or finding, Lina, it is 
part of our fate. If Miss Shaw is to be happy in marriage 
I sincerely hope she may marry. But everyone is not so, 
my dear.” 

“ She told me the other day,” continued Selina with a 
contented laugh, “ that if she had a husband like you, 
David, she was sure she could be happy with him whether 
she loved him or not.” 


2iS PARSO!^ JONES. 

“ She talks nonsense. She does not know what she is 
saying," replied her husband, hastily rising from his seat. 
“ Young girls imagine marriage to be a bed of roses. 
They never realize that every state in life must have its 
triafs and temptations. I would not encourage Miss Shaw 
to discuss such topics, if I were you, Lina." 

“And it is not delicate, surely," said Mary Jones, “for 
one woman to tell another that she could be happy with 
her husband. How can she know that, until she has 
tried ? " 

“ I don’t think we need argue that point of the ques- 
tion," said the parson. Lina, since you are so fond of 
Miss Shaw, I have a suggestion to make that I believe will 
give you pleasure. Both Captain and Mrs. Jefferson are 
going to leave Llanty-gollen, and they want us to take in 
Miss Sha^ during their absence. They will pay for her 
board, and I have no doubt liberally ; and the girl herself is 
pleased with the idea of staying with you and the children, 
but I told the captain I could say nothing for certain until 
I had consulted you." 

“ O David, why need you have done that, when you 
know how fond I am of dear Verena. And the children will 
be half wild with joy when they hear she is to stay with us. 
Aren’t you sorry you are going away, dear, just when that 
dear girl is coming ? It would have been such a pleasure 
to you to have her to walk with. And I suppose she will 
have the use of her aunt’s carriage too. Oh, it will be too 
nice to have her here all to ourselves. David, if anything 
could compensate me for your going away, it would be 
Verena’s society." 

“1 am very glad you are to have it then, Lina," said 
Parson Jones, “and I suppose I may write to the captain 
to-morrow and tell him that, when he goes to Anstey Castle, 
Miss Shaw may take up her abode with you. And now, my 


PARSON JONES. 


219 


dear, if that tripe is not quite spoilt, I think we will have 
it in, for I feel wearied with all these perplexing topics and* 
ready for my bed.” No more was said on the subject that 
evening, but when the parson (having written his letter to 
the Rev. George Bates) sought his much needed couch, 
Selina, awakened by his entrance, crept close to his side 
and whispered : 

“ Husband, won’t you tell me what has made you ill ? ” 

The parson thought for a minute before he answered. 
“ My dear wife, have you never slept so soundly that wak- 
ing became almost a pain to you, when you started from 
sleep hardly realizing where you were, and when you did so 
still the outer world seemed strange, so far had you wan- 
dered from it in your dreams? I have been sleeping, Lina, 
for a long while, and something painful has awakened me, 
and I feel dazed and giddy. I feel I have been dreaming, 
that I have been asleep, and have to learn the world (if 
indeed I have ever known it) anew. I have grave doubts, 
my dear, whether I have regarded life and religion and all 
my duties aright.” 

“O Davy, how can you think so, when you are so good 
to us all,” cried Selina in amazed distress. 

‘‘ My dear, you do not know me as well as I know myself. 
I have doubts, and they have harassed, and upset me, and 
made me wretched. Is that sufficient explanation for you, 
Lina, because I can give you no other ? Your husband has 
been too secure in himself and he has wandered from the 
fold, and he hopes, by going away for a little while, to solve 
his difficulties and come back to you, clear in mind and de- 
cided as to his future actions. And now I am going to 
whisper a little secret into your ear, a secret which I would 
tell to no one but yourself, and which you must faithfully 
keep for me. If after mature deliberation I should arrive 
at the decision that my duty lies in the direction of another 


220 


PARSON JONES. 


country than England, if I should see my way to serving 
God better by making a home elsewhere, or by becoming a 
wandering missionary on the face of the earth, would you 
have faith enough in your husband to follow his fortunes, so 
long as God led the way ? ” 

“You would take me and the children with you, Davy ? ” 
cried Selina joyfully. 

“ I should never dream of going anywhere for a perma- 
nency without you,” replied her husband gravely. 

“ O Davy, it would be too delightful,” she exclaimed, 
with unusual excitement. “You don’t know howl have 
longed that something might happen to take us away from 
Llanty-gollen. It is so dull, you know. I have no friend 
but Verena, and there are no amusements from one year’s 
end to another. Oh, I shall love to go away with you ! 
I don’t care where it may be, so long as it is out of Idanty- 
gollen, and we are together.” 

“ Poor little woman ! ” said the parson, “ and you have 
endured it all so patiently. Well, keep my counsel then, 
even from grandmamma, and I believe it will come to pass 
with time. I do indeed ! ” 

“ It will be too lovely !” sighed Lina, as she sank to sleep 
in her husband’s arms. But the parson remained waking 
far into the night, pondering over what might be in store for 
him and his. 


XV, 

The Rev. George Bates had been at Cambridge with 
David Jones, but in a very different set. He was the son of 
Lord Arthur Bates, and the grandson of the Duke of Runny- 
mede, who held the fat living of Solney-cum-Mereton in his 
gift. So when George was approaching manhood, and his 
father thought it was about time he decided what he was 


PARSON- JONES. 


221 


going to do for a livelihood, it was only natural that the duke 
proposed he should go into the Church and become the 
vicar of Solney-cum-Mereton. Accordingly young Bates, 
who had already given his people a considerable amount of 
trouble by getting into disreputable scrapes, was packed off 
to Cambridge to make himself ready for the service of the 
Lord. He entered college with as much idea of the gravity 
and importance of the career he had accepted, as if he had 
been joining a wine party, and was soon in hot water with 
the authorities. More than once he had been on the verge 
of expulsion, and saved himself, as he said, “by the skin of 
his teeth,” when the solemn-looking and somewhat ungainly 
David Jones gained admittance there. It is needless to 
say that he entered Cambridge with very different ideas 
from those of Mr. George Bates. Brought up from a baby 
to regard the sanctity of the Church as something only next 
to that of God himself, he looked upon everything con- 
nected with his preparation for it in the same light. Added 
to which, he had no money to keep up the same appear- 
ances as his college mates. His father had with much diffi- 
culty scraped the capital together to send him there. He 
could not hire horses, nor give wine parties, nor swagger 
about the town as the rich collegians did. For which rea- 
sons, no less than his intense earnestness, he was soon 
picked out as a species of butt for the wilder spirits in col- 
lege, of whom George Bates was a very fair example, if not 
leader. His father was not rich either, but he was a favorite 
with the old duke, who was wont to say that “George had 
no d — d nonsense about him, and was a chip of the old 
block, by Gad ! ” by which he meant, his decrepit and irre- 
ligious self. David Jones’ grave looks and steady applica- 
tion to study were standing reproaches to George Bates 
and his party, and they made the young Welshman very 
uncomfortable in consequence. Every trick they could 


222 


PARSON JONES. 


play upon him, they played — every unnecessary expense 
they could draw him into, they did — and were overwhelmed 
with delight to view his mortification, or to see his serious 
looks. He went by the name of “ the Archbishop '' in col- 
lege, and more than once they managed to lay the blame of 
their harum-scarum scrapes upon his innocent head ; but 
never was David Jones known by word or look to betray 
them. He suffered his undeserved censure in silence, and 
he paid his money down without a murmur. But, had they 
known it, the poor young countryman, whom they ridiculed 
for his accent and his want of manners, had often to go 
without his proper amount of food, in order to meet the 
expenses they drew him into against his will. At last, 
however, the day of reckoning came. George Bates, from 
late hours and dissipation, fell ill of typhoid fever of so 
malignant a type that the doctor would allow none of his 
college mates to go near him. Even his own people were 
warned that if they traveled to Cambridge they would not 
be allowed access to the sick chamber unless they stayed 
there altogether. So when they ascertained that George 
had his doctor, and his nurse, and “ all was being done for 
him that could be done " (as they said), they were contented 
to receive daily bulletins concerning his health. But David 
Jones, his butt and victim, thought of something more than 
the sick man’s health. When it became rumored in the 
college that “ Bates was about as bad as he could be, and 
the Don had written that morning to prepare his people for 
the worst,” David began to wonder if they were going to 
let the poor fellow leave this world without a thought of the 
one to which he was hastening. The idea troubled him all 
day, for he did not know if the authorities would grant 
him admission to Bates’ chamber, or if the sick man would 
care to see him if they did. For he had never met him yet 
without receiving a sneer or a scoff at his supposed super- 


PARSON- JONES. 


223 


iority. But the day went on and the rumors of Bates’ 
danger became more rife, so David Jones went straight up 
to the proper authority and asked leave to watch the night 
in his room. 

“ You, Mr. Jones ! ” exclaimed the Don ; “ are you then a 
friend of Mr. Bates?" 

David Jones thought for a moment and then answered, 
“ I am, sir.” 

“ And you wish to be with him at the last, I suppose. 
Do you know the risk that you run ?" 

“ I know that I shall be as safe there as anywhere else, 
sir." 

The Don looked in his earnest face for a moment and 
said, “ You may go, but it can only be on one condition — ^ 
that you do not return to the college until all fear of 
infection is past. It will interrupt your studies, which will 
be a pity when you are going on so well, but it will be 
inevitable. You cannot return in all probability this term. 
Have you thought of that ? " 

“Yes, sir! but I think it is my duty to go to Bates, if 
you allow me." 

“ Very well ! you must decide for yourself," replied the 
Don ; but, as Jones left his presence, he thought : “ That is a 
very remarkable young man. I know that Bates and his set 
have persecuted him ever since he entered college, and yet 
he will risk his life for him. He has the spirit of a true 
missionary. He will do something great, for the next world, 
if not for this, by and by." 

Meanwhile, David Jones, whose kindly heart was aching 
for the poor lad whose own people had left him to die 
alone, made his way to George Bates’ rooms, and estab- 
lished himself as chief nurse. What need to say that the sick 
man recovered ! Has he not already been introduced by 
name, if not in person, to the reader ? But his convalescence 


224 


PARSON JONES. 


was a long and tedious one. For weeks he lay prostrate on 
his bed — weak as an infant and craving with all his heart for 
companionship, and support, and human sympathy ; and, 
when he found that the man he had ridiculed, and sneered 
at, and done his best to make miserable, was the only crea- 
ture who had cared to risk the danger of infection for his 
sake — that, rather than let his wild and careless soul quit 
the world without a thought of God or Heaven, he had laid 
aside all prejudice and ill-feeling (if indeed he had ever 
harbored any) and come to his bedside to whisper words of 
hope and comfort, George Bates’ heart experienced a 
revolution that proved a permanent one. He rose from his 
bed a changed man, and David Jones’ firmest friend. He 
re-entered college in quite a different spirit and with a dif- 
ferent intention. His illness seemed to have swept away 
all the impurities of his nature, as it is said to do those of 
the body. His old set did not know him at first, but soon 
learned to respect him as they had never done before. And 
George Bates had always sufficient nobility to ascribe the 
change in his feelings to its true cause — the example of 
David Jones. As their friendship grew and flourished, 
and they discussed various topics together, George’s views 
for the future changed as he had done ; and, to the utter 
astonishment of his father and the disgust of his noble 
grandfather, when the time came for his ordination he 
utterly refused to accept the fat living of Solney-cum- 
Mereton, where he would have drawn fifteen hundred per 
annum with scarcely anything to do for it, and took a 
curacy in the East-end of London instead, where he had 
eighty pounds a year and was worked morning, noon, and 
night. His people shrugged their shoulders and said 
George was “ cracked his grandfather called him a fool, 
with an adjective attached to it ; but he was resolute in 
having his own way, and had had it ever since. This was 


PARSON JONES. 


225 


the friend to whom David Jones now wrote in his perplexity, 
and who answered his letter by return of post. Parson 
Jones smiled as he perused the epistle, for George Bates, 
though a most sincere and religious man, had never quite 
given up his old forms of expression and did not consider 
it necessary, because he loved God, to talk as if he were 
going to be buried the next day. 

“ Dear Old Chum [it ran] : Got your letter — delighted 
to hear from you, but sorry you are seedy. Will you come 
and help me for a while ? 1 have a young fellow here, who 

ought never to have left his mother’s apron-string — only 
been with me two months and fallen sick already with the 
smells, and the noises, and the hard work. I was just going 
to send him back to his mammy when yours arrived. Why 
not exchange with him ? He’ll do beautifully for Llanty- 
gollen — wake them up a bit I expect ; for, like all youngsters, 
Jack has a wonderful idea of himself, and goes in for all 
sorts of newfangled ideas. If any of your congregation 
survive one of his sermons. I’ll eat my hat. But he’ll be in 
his element. I believe it’s because I stopped his preaching 
that he’s fallen sick. It’ll set him up like a house afire to 
find himself in sole charge, and you may trust him. It’s 
only. my chaff. By the way I find I’ve omitted to mention 
his name, the Reverend John Neville (save the mark), aged 
twenty-four. However, he’s a good little fellow, only a bit 
too zealous. I’ve chaffed him so unmercifully about his 
being the Reverend John Neville, that he has taken lately to 
calling me the Irreverent George Bates, so that I think 
change has become a necessity for him. When will you 
come, old man ? The sooner the better ! Can’t you man- 
age next week ? Write to the bishop at once. What a 
pleasure it will be to see your old mug again. And this 
strange life will interest you and draw you out of yourself — 


226 


PARSON JONES. 


this terrible town, so cruel and indifferent — so full of 
tragedies and comedies — of sorrow, and starvation, and crime 
stalking side by side with debauchery, and pleasure, and ex- 
travagance. If you once settled in London, no other work 
would ever satisfy you. But perhaps you are sick for want 
of the sea air, or the mild winds of the southern counties — 
if so, tell me, and I will still send my Right Reverend Jack 
to take your place at Llanty-gollen and give you a little holi- 
day. I am sure you must want it by this time. Only come 
and pay me a visit before you turn your footsteps homeward 
again. You know it has been a long-promised treat. How 
I shall enjoy it, and what palavers we will have over our 
college days. Let me hear soon ; and, if I am to be dis- 
appointed, take me gently over the stones. 

“ Ever yours, 

“ George Bates." 

This letter from his old friend, so hearty and cheery, 
did David Jones more good than anything else could have 
done. He sat down and answered it at once : 

“ No ! my dear Bates, you shall not be disappointed ! 
I will be with you, if the bishop consents, next week. 
Nothing could have given me greater pleasure than the 
receipt of your letter — no change could do me so much 
good as to see your cheery face again and take part in 
your interesting work. I am sick in body, only a little 
upset in mind ; but to take counsel with you will cure me 
more speedily than anything else could do. Tell Mr. 
Neville that everything here shall be ready for his reception 
early next week, and I hope he will derive as much good 
from his change to Llanty-gollen as I intend to do from 
seeing you again. 

“ Ever most affectionately yours, 

‘‘ Davip Jones,” 


PARSON JONES. 


227 


And thereupon Parson Jones set about making his prep- 
arations for departure with far more cheerfulness than he 
could have believed possible a few days before. He 
would have liked to slip out of Llanty-gollen without 
meeting Verena Shaw again, for the mere idea of seeing 
her, and holding her hand to say good-by, made the hot 
blood course through his veins in a fashion she only of all 
women had ever had the power to arouse, and yet he shiv- 
ered with apprehension at the prospect of interviewing her. 
He wondered, in his innocence, if any man in the world had 
ever been affected by woman in like manner, or if he were 
specially wicked and more a prey to his sinful passions 
than other people. But he was not to escape the trial ; for, 
if Lina would have let him go without saying farewell to 
her favorite Verena, the girl herself would not have been 
satisfied to see him depart without another assurance of 
his intention and willingness to help her to enter into com- 
munication with her recreant lover. She haunted the par- 
sonage during the last few days of his sojourn there, in 
hopes of catching him at home, and little thought the 
while how the poor parson was hiding himself behind the 
hedges of his own garden until she should have turned her 
steps once more in the direction of Heddlewick Manor. 
But it was to be, and it came about on this wise. Verena 
had appeared at the parsonage one morning very earl}^, 
while Parson Jones was still occupied in watching Tom’s 
operations in the stable, and consequently did not see her 
come up the drive. She found Selina in great confusion, 
sorting, mending, and packing her husband’s scanty stock 
of clothes, in preparation for his journey on the morrow. 

“ Verena, my dear,” she cried, “I am so busy I have no 
time to attend to you. Only look at this pile of things ! 
They have all to be mended, and poor grandmamma is of no 
earthly use to me, for, added to her being so blind that she 


228 


PARSON JONES. 


spends a morning over one sock, she has worried so much 
over David going away that she has made herself quite 
ill.” 

“ Poor Mrs. Jones ! ” replied Verena, sympathetically, “ I 
am so sorry for her and all of you ! And is he really going 
to-morrow ? How you will miss him ! and so shall I. I am 
glad I came this morning, though, for I should have been so 
grieved if Mr. Jones had left Llanty-gollen without saying 
good-by to me, and besides I think I can help you, Lina, 
with some of these things.” 

“ Oh, you dear girl ! if you only will, I shall be everlast- 
ingly grateful to you ! But, of course, David would never 
have gone away without bidding you good-by. Why, you 
are a great pet of his. I don’t think he cares for anyone 
in Llanty-gollen as he does for you, Verena ! ” 

“ That is very nice to hear ! Let me show my gratitude 
for it by darning some of his socks.” 

“ No, not the socks, they are such horrid work ! He 
would never forgive me for letting you do them. But if 
you will cut off the frayed edges of these cuffs and collars, 
Verena, and sew the buttons which may be wanting on his 
shirts, you will do me an infinite service.” 

“ I shall be proud to help in so good a cause, Lina, but 
oh, I am so sorry he is going away ! Won’t you miss him 
terribly ? And poor Mrs. Jones, too. I think more of her 
almost than I do of you, because she is so old, and has 
never separated from her son before.” 

“ But it is necessary that he should go, and he won’t be 
long absent,” said Selina philosophically. “ He has really 
been quite out of sorts and unlike himself lately. There 
never was a man so fond of his children as David used to 
be, and he never seemed to tire of their company. But 
the last month he has seemed to weary at the least trouble, 
and once or twice he has spoken quite sharply to them, so 


PARSON JONES. 


229 


that the poor little creatures do not know what to make of 
him. That shows in itself, you know, that he must be ill. 
And at night,” continued Lina, lowering her voice, “ I 
haven’t liked to tell grandmamma for fear of frightening her, 
but his moans and sighs during his sleep are heartrending, 
and he is so restless it is impossible to get any sleep oneself. 
So I am sure that if he were to remain here he would 
have a fever or something. It is much better he should 
go.” 

“ Of course,” acquiesced Verena, “and Uncle Hal says 
no man could do the work Mr. Jones does, for so many 
years without a change, without feeling it. Is it decided 
yet where he is to go ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, yes ! He is going straight to London to help 
his old friend Mr. Bates in his parish, and Mr. Bates’ curate, 
Mr. Neville, is coming here. He is to live at the parson- 
age with us, so you will see plenty of him. I hope he will 
not be very stiff and formal, or I shall be afraid of him. 
But David says he is quite young — only four and twenty — 
so perhaps he will not take too much on himself.” 

“ A sucking parson,” laughed Verena merrily ; and as she 
laughed David Jones passed the window and involuntarily 
looked in. 

“ There’s David ! ” cried Selina, quickly. “ Davy, do 
come in ! Here’s Verena so good as to be helping me with 
your things. Your buttons will keep on ever so much bet- 
ter now, won’t they ? Or if they come off with the first 
touch, you can’t say it is all the fault of poor me.” 

Both the young women laughed at this sally, and Parson 
Jones leant for a moment on the window sill in acknowl- 
edgment of their addressing him. 

“ No, don’t stay there, as if you were going to run away 
in a minute, Mr. Jones,” said Verena in a coaxing tone. 
“ Come in and talk a little. You are going away to-mor- 


230 PARSON- JONES. 

row, Lina says, and it may be such a long time before we 
meet again.” 

“ But that circumstance,” stammered the parson, “ makes 
my time so precious that I have not a moment spare.” 

“ What a shame ! Am I not your parishioner as well as 
all those old almshouse women ? and want your parting 
advice twice as much.” 

“ Must you really go into the village, David ? ” per- 
sisted his wife. 

“ I must, indeed, my dear ! This decision has been so 
sudden that I shall leave half my work undone as it is.” 

“ Oh, don’t you be afraid,” said Verena, “ Lina and I 
will see that the sucking parson does his duty. I’ll promise 
to take him round the parish myself, if you will only give 
us half an hour of your company now.” 

“You had better not meddle too much with Mr. Neville, 
Verena,” said Selina, “or he’ll be falling in love with you, 
and then there will be a lot of parish work done. I expect 
I shall have to look after you and keep you out of mischief.” 

“You need not trouble yourself,” replied Verena, with a 
touch of her old hauteur ; “ I am not at all likely to fall in 
love with anyone, especially with a parson.” 

“ That’s complimentary to David,” said Lina, smiling. 

“ Ah, then, but I can’t have ‘ David ’ ! ” returned Verena, 
with an innocent girlish familiarity that went like a knife 
through the parson’s heart. He turned away from the win- 
dow and seemed about to start on his parish rounds. 

“Verena!” suggested Lina suddenly, “if you want a 
talk with David, why not take a walk with him how ? You 
could come back and help me with my work in the after- 
noon, if you don’t mind.” 

“But wouldn’t it worry Mr. Jones?” asked the girl 
wistfully. 

“ Certainly not,” replied Lina with decision ; “ he will be 


PARSON- JONES. 


231 


only too pleased to have your company, won’t you, David?” 
and the parson was fain to answer “ yes.” “ Verena 
observed the hesitation in his manner, and suggested that if 
her walking with him were inconvenient she would wait till 
the evening, and have a talk with him in the study instead. 
But the parson shrank from this proposition more than the 
other. He could not stand Verena alone with him in his 
study, looking up into his face — putting her hand in his — 
bending over his chair with unconscious cruelty. It un- 
manned him. In the open air — among his villagers — along 
the country lanes — he felt more brave. 

“ No,” he said ; “ I shall be still more busy this evening. 
Miss Shaw — my last one at home, too — if you wish to speak 
to me let it be now.” 

So Verena slipped on her hat and came out into the 
garden to him. 

“ Is it anything new ?” he asked in anything but an eager 
manner, as they strolled on together ; .but the girl was too 
much occupied with her own feelings to take any notice 
of his apparent indifference. 

“ Oh, no, Mr. Jones,” she replied ; “ nothing new happens 
to me now. It is always the same sad old story. But first 
I want to thank you for consenting to my living at the dear 
parsonage while Uncle Hal is away. I should have enjoyed 
my visit fifty times more if you had been there too, you 
know — indeed ! I am awfully disappointed that you should 
be leaving Llanty-gollen just now ; but it can’t be helped, 
and I shall live in hopes that Uncle Hal may stay away 
longer than you do. But I shall be very happy with dear 
Lina, I know, and I shall always hear the first news of you 
there, and how you are getting on, and I shall feel your 
presence about the place, and that alone will do me good. 
Do you think me very silly and romantic?” she added, 
looking up into his face. 


232 


PARSON JONES. 


“ No, for I am sure you regard me as a friend ; but you 
will find Lina more sympathetic and helpful than myself.” 

“ Is that possible ? However, I thank you from my 
heart for leaving me with her. And then the second thing 
I want to speak about is what you must guess — what you 
have promised me — your search for Bertie. Mr. Jones, 
how shall I know when you are successful ? Will you write 
to me ? I shall be so anxious — so terribly anxious to hear 
if you have had any success.” 

The parson swallowed something in his throat before he 
replied. “ But I shall be in London, and hard at work. I 
am not going away to be idle, remember. And I shall not 
be master of my time ; it is so difficult to promise anything.” 

“ Oh, but you will make time for me — your poor little 
friend — I am sure you will, dear, dear Mr. Jones. Think 
how I shall be longing, expecting, thirsting for news, and 
that I shall have no one to tell all my anxiety to when you 
are gone.” 

“ Except God,” said the parson. 

“ Oh, Mr. Jones, don’t put me off with that platitude. 
Haven’t I told God } In the days gone by, when I believed 
that God heard and answered prayer, and Bertie seemed to 
have deserted me, didn’t I weary Heaven with my sighs and 
tears, and promise and swear to do anything — anything on 
earth — if he would only send me back my darling. And 
what good were my prayers? Did God hear or listen to 
them? Did he send anyone to my relief? Oh, yes!” 
exclaimed Verena, suddenly breaking off in her diatribe, 
“ he did\ He sent you to me, to give me fresh hope and 
happiness. Of course he did. How could I be so unbeliev- 
ing? I see it all now. Light has broken in upon my soul. 
God could have sent me no better aid, and you will not 
desert me, will you? You will not throw me back upon 
myself a.nt\ my own rebellious thoughts ! ” 


PARSON JONES. 233 

She clasped her two slight hands upon his arm as she 
spoke, and looked into his face with the confidence of a 
little child. David Jones tried to disengage himself from 
her grasp, but she only clung the closer to him, and he was 
fain to turn and meet the gaze of her beaming eyes and the 
sight of her fair, flushed face. 

“No, Verena,” he said impulsively; “I will not desert 
you, so help me God ! “ 

“ I knew it ! I knew it ! “ cried the girl excitedly, “ and 
I feel that with your help everything will be right for me at 
last. I have seen Bertie so often in my dreams of late,” 
she went on in a low voice, “ and he has looked so gay — so 
much as he used to do before this mysterious cloud came 
between our joy and us. It has made me feel so happy — so 
light hearted — when I woke. And the other night I 
fancied I said to him — I suppose it was only fancy — 
“ Bertie, shall we ever be as we were again ?” and he nodded 
his head at me and smiled. And then I thought I said, 
“ It is David who will bring us together. Oh, I beg your 
pardon, Mr. Jones ; I hope you don’t think me disrespectful, 
but I always call you ‘David’ in my dreams. You know 
David killed Goliath, and I feel as if God had sent you to 
kill two giants for me at one blow — the giant of unbelief 
and the giant of despair. And you will, if you bring Bertie 
back to me.” 

“O Verena, my child,” exclaimed the tortured man, “/ 
willy God helping me, whatever the cost may be to myself. 
I will pray night and day that your belief, which is struggling 
to the light, may culminate in the perfect day, and that 
your earthly happiness may be crowned by a joy that no 
man can take away from you.” 

“Dear, dear friend, how can I thank you ? And will you 
write to me ? ” 

“ When I have any news to give you, I will ! And till 


234 


PARSON JONES. 


that comes, you will be good — you will be patient — will you 
not, and try to trust.” 

“ Oh, yes, while you are praying for me — that will be 
easy — for I am sure God will hear your prayers.” 

“Good-by then, and God bless you,” said David Jones, 
stopping and holding out his hand to her. 

“ May I not walk a little further with you ? ” 

“ No, child, better not. I have a great deal to do and 
think of, and I want all my courage to take leave of home. 
Wish me God speed, and let me go. It is no light thing 
for me to quit Llanty-gollen, Verena.” 

“No, of course not, and dear Lina and all your little 
children. But we will look after them for you, and you 
must mind to come back to us quite well again, and cured 
of all your troubles.” 

“Please Heaven, I will,” replied Parson Jones, and 
Verena was not surprised to see the tears standing in the 
sad eyes he turned upon her. Was he not talking of leav- 
ing dear little Mollie, and Owen, and Hughie, and the 
dimpled baby t His wife and mother, too. How could he 
feel otherwise than sad ? She squeezed the hand he prof- 
fered her as hard as ever she could, and ran away toward 
Heddlewick Manor, fairly ready to cry. And Parson Jones 
looked after her retreating form until it was out of sight 
and, brushing his hand hastily across his eyes, strode off in 
another direction. But when evening arrived — his last 
evening in Llanty-gollen, he felt sorry that he had asked 
her not to come. What a fool he was, why couldn’t he have 
looked in her sweet face once more — perhaps for the last 
time — what harm would there have been in giving her a 
farewell grasp of the hand ? And Selina made the matter 
worse, too, by her incessant regrets that Verena should have 
forgotten her promise to return to the parsonage and help 
her with her load of work, which seemed to show no signs 


PARSON JONES. 


235 


of diminishing ; until the parson felt compelled, in justice 
to his girl friend, to tell his wife that it was he who had 
asked Miss Shaw not to visit them that evening. 

“ My last evening for some time, you know, dear Lina, 
with mother and yourself. I thought you would rather we 
spent it quite alone ! ” 

Old Mrs. Jones, who had been very subdued and silent 
during the last few days, hardly realizing that it was possible 
that her idolized son was actually going to leave her, found 
in her daughter-in-law’s apparent indifference a just subject 
for rebuke. 

“Yes, indeed, Selina,” she commenced, “ I wonder at 
your wishing to see a stranger on such a sad night as this, 
or even expecting that Miss Shaw would have the indelicacy 
to intrude herself on our family circle. It would indeed 
have been a liberty if she had done so. Our beloved David 
is going from us into the wilderness, and Heaven only knows 
when we shall meet again ; and you would admit a girl, of 
whom he knows nothing and cares less, to be witness of our 
grief and fears. I am astonished. I have always known 
you to be very indifferent to the amenities of life, but this 
would have been an outrage.” 

“Oh, now, grandmamma, don’t say any more about it, 
please,” exclaimed Selina. “ I don’t know how regard 
Verena, but Davy and I are very fond of her, and should 
not have found her presence a restraint — should we, Davy ?” 

“ I think we are better alone, my dear,” replied the par- 
son, in which his mother solemnly acquiesced. 

“ Miss Shaw is not, unfortunately for herself, of our way 
of thinking,” she said, shaking her head, “and however 
k\n6\y you may regard her, Selina, to my dearson here she 
can be nothing but a soul to be saved.” 

“ Well, to me she would have been a very great help,” 
retorted Lina, “ and I am sure I don’t know how I shall 


236 


PARSON JONES. 


ever get through this pile of work without her. Sarah is 
no use at all, even if baby would let her leave her side a 
moment." 

“ Don’t worry yourself about my clothes, Lina, " said the 
parson kindly; “ I dare say George’s old housekeeper, 
Mrs. Nelson, will put a stitch or two into them for me, if 
they require it. I know she looks after everything of that 
sort for George.’’ 

But this proposition seemed little short of blasphemy to 
Mary Jones. 

“ David, my dear, of what are you thinking ? ’’ she ex- 
claimed. ‘‘ I should hope Selina knew her duty better than 
that. What ! send you — a minister of the Lord’s Gospel — 
away from home with undarned socks and without buttons 
on your shirt ? Why, I would sit up all night myself, 
sooner than you should be so disgraced. Your dear father 
never had to complain of such negligence on my part, 
though he was only a merchant. I used to sit up often at 
night when he was asleep, after the labors of the day, and 
mend his things for the morrow’s wear. But I am afraid 
Selina is not so fond of needlework and seeing everything 
tidy as I used to be.’’ 

“ Yes, lam!’’ replied poor Lina, who was ready to cry, 
^‘and I should like to have spent this last evening with 
Davy as much as anyone, but baby’s teething and the other 
children have prevented me, day after day, from getting as 
forward with my preparations as I should have wished.’’ 

‘‘ Poor little mother ! she is overwhelmed with the care 
of all her big children,’’ said Parson Jones, “ but she will 
have me off her hands soon now.’’ 

“Ah, David ! that is unkind. If you only knew how 
much I wish there was no necessity for you to leave us.’’ 

Her husband heaved a big sigh. 

“ Not more than I do, my dear. But the necessity exists 


PARSON JONES. 237 

and it must be met. Keep up your heart and think only of 
how soon I shall be back among you all ! ” 

The parting with his babies was a sorer trial than the 
parson had anticipated. He was up very early the follow- 
ing morning, giving the lad Thomas the strictest directions 
respecting his treatment of the pigs, and the pony, and the 
fowls, during his own absence, and walking up and down 
his beloved garden, wondering how soon he should see it 
again, and in what respect his feelings would have altered 
when he did so. Should he have ceased to love Verena? 
or would he be obliged to return to Llanty-gollen, with his 
heart still on fire for her, and take up the burden just 
where he had dropped it ? He believed not ! He did not 
think such a course would be possible to him — that he 
could go through with it and live. There are moments in 
our lives when the future seems to be revealed whether we 
believe it or not. Such a moment was on David Jones now. 
As he wandered about his garden, he seemed to be saying 
good-by to it for ever. As if one portion of his life was 
over and done with — one volume of the book read, and 
closed, and put away, one panoramic view passing — passing 
with the hours as they flew by, and brought the one of de- 
parture in their course. He was to start for his destination 
by a train that left the nearest town at twelve o’clock, and 
Toby would take at least two hours drawing him there. 
Both his mother and Selina would gladly have accompanied 
him to the station and seen him off, but there was his 
modest portmanteau to be stowed away in the little pony 
chaise, and Tom to go with him in order to bring it back, 
so it was quite impossible to take anyone else. And the 
parson was glad that it should be so — he was not sure 
enough of his own self-command to wish to say farewell to 
what he held so dear, in the presence of the railway porters 
and the guard. He embraced his mother and his wife with 


238 


PARSON JONES. 


considerable heroism, but he utterly broke down over the 
last kisses to his babies. He squeezed Mollie and little 
Lina to his breast, while Owen and Hughie clung to his 
coat tails, until the manly tears burst forth, and his sobs 
mingled with those of the children. 

“ Oh, my little ones ! ” he groaned within himself. “ I 
have to leave you, for weeks — perhaps months — and all be- 
cause of my own weakness and sin ! I — your father, who 
should have had the power to curb all evil inclinations and 
wandering thoughts for your sakes, has given way in such 
a contemptible manner that his penalty is, he has to part 
from you. O God, forgive my frailty and be the Father of 
my innocent infants till I have recovered sufficiently from 
the effects of my folly to be able to return and take up the 
duties my sin has compelled me for a while to drop.” 

He kissed the children over and over again — snatched a 
last embrace from his wife and mother, and, running 
quickly from the house, jumped into the pony chaise and 
lashed poor Toby with a vehemence that surprised him into 
a gallop down the drive, while Lina and her children threw 
themselves on chairs and sofas, and wailed in unison. But, 
luckily for Parson Jones, he did not hear them as he went 
through the village at an unusual pace, only waving his 
whip in answer to the greeting and hearty farewells that 
met him upon every side. In order to reach the railway 
station, he had to pass the gates of Heddlewick Manor. He 
would have given much to be able to avoid doing this, for 
he was just in that frame of mind, when the very thought 
of Verena Shaw was distasteful to him, and he was almost 
ready to lay the blame of his discomfort and the distress of 
his family on her innocent shoulders. But there was no 
escape for him ; and, worse than that, as he approached the 
manor gates, he perceived Verena herself standing outside 
them, and evidently waiting to see him go by. He lashed 


PARSOISr JONES. 239 

poor Toby anew, and with a wave of the hand, was about 
to pass her without stopping. 

“ Mr. Jones ! ” she cried, dashing into the middle of the 
road with a bunch of autumn flowers in her hand. 

“ I cannot wait, I shall be late,” exclaimed the parson, 
driving past her. “ Good-by, good-by ! ” 

But Verena ran lightly after the chaise and threw her 
flowers at his feet. “ God bless you ! ” she cried loudly, 
“ God bless you forever ! ” 

Parson Jones nodded back at her, but at that moment, 
while his heart was so sore from parting from his little 
children, the poor girl who involuntarily had driven him from 
home seemed more like a merciless demon in his eyes than 
an angel of light ; and, as soon as he was well out of sight, 
he kicked the bunch of flowers out of the chaise into the 
dusty road. 

“ How I wish I had never met her,” he groaned to him- 
self : “ she has been my ruin.” 

So do even the best of men visit their own sins on the 
head of the unfortunate women Vv^ho have contributed, either 
innocently or by design, to their discomfiture. But David 
Jones was not the man to cherish resentment, particularly 
an unjust resentment, long. In another minute he was 
sorry for his unseemly haste ; and, had it not been for the lad 
beside him and the tales he would have carried back to 
Llanty-gollen, he would have liked to retrace his steps and 
recovered Verena’s despised offering. 

“ How much more brute there is in me than man,” he 
thought, as he drove rapidly onward ; “ why should I have 
rejected her flowers, dear innocent child, when they were 
intended only to tell me that she wished me well ? And be- 
cause I am angry with myself, as I may well be,- I behave 
like a churlish cad, and do a hasty action which may be car- 
ried back to my parish against me. And she may hear it. 


240 


PARSON JONES. 


Ah ! well, it would serve me right if she did, and had her 
eyes opened to my true character, and despised me for it as 
I despise myself.” 

But his arrival at the station soon dispersed his gloomy 
thoughts. Traveling was such a novelty to him, and he 
made such a business of it in consequence, that he had no 
more time to think of anything but getting under way. 
When he had given Tom a shilling for himself and seen him 
drive away from the station again and secured his own seat 
in a third class carriage, the parson began to realize that he 
was really leaving home and going to have a holiday. He 
did not care to read during the four long hours that he 
spent in the train. It was sufficient novelty and enjoyment 
for him who had been shut up in Llanty-gollen for so long 
to gaze from the carriage window and watch the fields and 
farm-houses flying by, until they had given place to gentle- 
men’s estates and ornamental grounds, and the train came 
to a standstill at some town. Many passengers noticed the 
grave looking, handsome man who gazed so pertinaciously 
from the window and appeared so wonderfully interested in 
all he saw. His mind kept reverting at intervals to his wife 
and children, to his mother and Verena Shaw, but they only 
passed before his mental vision like shadows. His real 
thoughts were with the fresh sights before him. The 
change was already doing him good. But, if he were ab- 
sorbed in watching the country sights which were, in a 
measure, familiar to him, how much more his eyes became 
riveted on what he saw, as the train approached London. 
The tall tenements, each floor of which was occupied by a 
separate family, the members of which, equally dirty, hag- 
gard, and ill-clothed, hung out of the windows with arms 
akimbo or pipes in their mouths as if they had nothing else 
to do. The wonderful back gardens consisting of about 
twenty feet of filthy soil which had the appearance of black 


PARSON JONES. 


241 


grease, and in which was usually set up a plaster image and 
a pigeon cote surrounded by scarlet runners, or a half-dead 
vine. Parson Jones, so used to see clean faces and pina- 
fores, however poor the home in Llanty-gollen, stared with 
amazement at the touzled heads, the filthy faces, and the 
ragged clothes of the London poor into whose domains he 
was gazing from his carriage window, and felt relieved when 
the train stopped at the Paddington station and he stepped 
out of it into a crowd as dense and a traffic as incessant as 
he had ever imagined, but of a type more allied to himself. 
George Bates, knowing his old friend’s ignorance of London 
streets, would have come to meet him at the station had he 
been able, but his duties kept him away. He had sent a 
substitute, however, in the person of the Reverend John 
Neville, who, clad in a long black cassock and a Roman col- 
lar that made his head look like that of John the Baptist in 
a charger, advanced with an air as though he were talking 
in a church ; and, extending a black-gloved hand to Parson 
Jones, welcomed him in the most lugubrious of tones to 
London. 

Nothing wrong at home, I hope,” said Parson Jones, as 
he accepted the Reverend John’s flabby palm. “ George — 
Mr. Bates is all right, eh ? ” 

“ Certainly ! ” replied the young man, “ or I could not 
have been here. It was Mr. Bates who requested me to 
meet you, Mr. Jones, and to express his regret that his 
morning duties prevented his doing so in person. But our 
parish is a very large one, and the calls upon our time so 
incessant that we can seldom follow our own inclinations.” 

“ Exactly so ! ” replied the parson, who was already con- 
gratulating himself that this solemn young curate was not 
to be of their party ; “ and I suppose you are the gentleman 
who is going to be good enough to take my country cure 
for me during my absence ? ” 


242 


PARSON JONES. 


‘‘ I am/' answered the other. “ I believe I travel down 
to-morrow to Llanty-gollen. We must have some earnest 
conversation on the subject, Mr. Jones. I presume your 
parishioners have not been accustomed to church ritual. I 
judge from your not assuming the cassock as a sign of your 
holy calling.” 

“ No, indeed ! ” said the parson bluntly. “ They have 
been accustomed to nothing but to hear the common prayers 
read twice on Sundays, accompanied by two very bad ser- 
mons, which I dislike delivering quite as much as they 
dislike listening to, with a Wednesday service thrown in, 
just to remind them that Sunday is coming, and at which I 
generally officiate to about three parishioners.” 

“ How very sad ! ” remarked the Reverend John Neville. 
“ Let us hope my ministry may be sufficiently blest as to 
change all that before you return to them.” 

Parson Jones glanced at the young booby, who had not 
yet been able to persuade his whiskers to come out and 
meet the razor ; and, noting his self-satisfied appearance, 
wondered if he would presume to lecture an archbishop if 
he happened to meet one. He was himself (as has been 
seen) the most modest and least confident of men; but the 
idea of his parish being waked up during his absence, and 
by a man almost young enough to be his son, nettled him 
as much as it was in his sweet nature to be nettled. 

“ I think I hold Mr. Bates’ promise that you will intro- 
duce no innovations in Llanty-gollen, Mr. Neville,” he said. 
“ The Welsh are a very primitive and simple people, and 
neither understand nor agree to follow any new-fangled 
doctrines.” 

“ My doctrines are not new-fangled, Mr. Jones, I can 
assure you,” replied the Reverend John loftily. “ They are 
founded on the ritual of the early Anglican Church, which 
has been permitted, by the carelessness or indifference of 


PARSON JONES. 243 

those put in charge over us, to deteriorate until it is no 
longer recognizable by the faithful.” 

“ Still, while you remain under the authority of the 
English Church and eat her bread, Mr. Neville, I think it 
would be more honorable to obey her orders. When you 
can no longer do so with a true conscience it is time to 
leave her service. But I trust all this has nothing to do 
with Llanty.gollen. You and I must not forget that we are 
exchanging cures for a while, solely for the benefit of our 
mutual health ; and you must not attempt to alter anything 
from what you find it in Llanty-gollen, any more than I 
should think of reforming Mr. Bates’ parish.” 

“ Oh, no, of course not ! ” replied the younger man, look- 
ing rather crestfallen. He had thought he was going to 
have such a high old time all to himself up on the Welsh 
hills. This conversation had taken place in the cab which 
was conveying them toward Whitechapel, one of the dis- 
tricts of which was under George Bates’ charge. The 
vicarage (for George was no longer a curate on eighty 
pounds a year) was a dark, dingy looking house, situated 
down a side street, and struck even David Jones (who was 
ready to view everything in the best light) as being a 
wretched place for a man who toiled all day in one of the 
back slums of London to return to when his labors were at 
an end. A remembrance of his own pretty creeper-covered 
parsonage, with its luxuriant, productive garden, and the 
sweet, fresh air that blew over, and about, and through it, 
flashed across his mind as the cab stopped at the portals of 
George Bates’ home, and he reproached himself for ingrat- 
itude for all God’s goodness to him as he entered the house. 
The vicar was not yet in, though the dinner was ready to 
be served, and it was nearly five o’clock, a fact over which 
his old housekeeper, Mrs. Nelson, made open lamentation. 

“ But it’s just like Mr. George, sir,” she said, as she an- 


244 


PARSON JONES. 


nounced the fact to Parson Jones — she had been the Rev. 
George Bates’ nurse ; and, if he had been raised to an 
archbishopric, he would still have remained “ Mr. George ” 
to her — “ he never did think of himself, and he never will. 
Many’s the time he goes without his meals altogether, which 
I call nothing short of tempting Providence, but it’s no use 
my talking to him ; every dirty creature as holds him by the 
button, as you may say, he will stop to talk to — a nasty 
ungrateful lot too, as would rob him as soon as look at 
him.” 

“ He is in the Lord’s service, Mrs. Nelson,” interposed 
the Reverend John Neville, “ and it would be an insult to our 
Master if we stayed to think of our dinner when he stands 
in the person of his lost sheep to ask for our assistance.” 

Mrs. Nelson looked at the speaker as though she would 
have said, had she dared, “ Who asked you to put in your 
oar ? ” but all the sign she gave of disapproval was by turn- 
ing to David Jones and saying, “ You must be tired with 
your journey, sir, and would like to see your room. Bessy,” 
she continued to a girl assistant, “ take up a can of hot 
water to the blue bedroom at once, and please to come this 
way, sir.” 

She led him to a comfortable bedroom, the wretched look- 
out from which was carefully draped by lace curtains ; and 
busied herself with seeing that everything was prepared for 
his comfort, the while she delivered herself of something 
which she was evidently longing to say. 

“ I do hope Mr. George will be here soon, sir. I think 
he must have thought the train would be longer on its way, 
for he’s been so anxious for you to come. And I do hope 
you’ll make a long stay now you have come, sir, for Mr. 
George wants someone sensible-like to talk to when he 
comes home of an evening. It’s all very well for youngsters 
as don’t know a good dinner from a bad one, and can eat 


Parson /ones. 


245 


anything, to talk about the Lord’s work and all that ; but 
I've brought Mr. George up from a baby and know his con- 
stitution, and it won’t stand wear and tear like this. Besides 
he aint so young as he used to be, sir, and he wants his 
nourishment regular, and I hope you’ll point the same out 
to him.” 

“ I will indeed, Mrs. Nelson, if I find he requires a scold- 
ing on the subject. Mr. George and I are very old friends, 
as perhaps he has told you.” 

Often, sir, and he’s been as anxious over your coming 
as never was. He has a good heart, has Mr. George. I 
often wish he had a sensible gentleman like yourself to talk 
to and keep company with, instead of a boy. I hates 
whipper-snappers,” said the housekeeper, with some warmth; 
and then, aware of the mistake she had made, she added 
hastily, “I beg your pardon, sir, I am sure, but I was only 
speaking of the gentleman from a human aspect, you under- 
stand.” 

Parson Jones could not help laughing as he replied, 

“ Oh, yes ! Mrs. Nelson, I understand perfectly, and your 
observation will go no further. But do I not hear your 
master’s voice on the stairs ? ” 

“Why, to be sure, so it is ! ” exclaimed the housekeeper 
joyfully ; and in another moment George Bates was in the 
room, shaking hands heartily with his old chum. He was 
by no means spiritual in appearance, though his heart was 
in the right place. A little round, rosy man with insignifi- 
cant features and a broad smile, always ready to burst 
forth on the slightest occasion ; for the greatest drawback 
which the Reverend George experienced in his profession 
was so strong a sense of the ludicrous that it obtruded 
itself in the most awkward, and sometimes in the most 
serious, moments. But it was an incurable propensity, no 
more his fault than his little turn-up nose : it had been 


246 


PARSON JONES. 


born with him and was part of his nature. He saw every, 
thing in its most humorous aspect and would have laughed 
in church just as soon as at home, if anything funny took 
place there. But he was a sincere Christian ; and it is at 
least an open question if the God who had endowed him 
with that sixth sense, so sadly wanting in most people, did 
not enjoy it as much as he did. “ Let us make man in our 
own image.” “ And in the image of God created he them.” 
I often wonder where people get their ideas of the Almighty, 
unless it is from the Scriptures ; and where in the Scriptures 
they find the original of the terrible fetish they set up for 
human creatures to bow down to ? God is more than once 
spoken of in the Bible as laughing. If he laughs for scorn, 
surely he must sometimes also employ that sense forexpress- 
ing happiness or fun. But half our so-called Christians 
would have fits if you were to hint before them that our 
Father God, in whose image we are made, could possibly 
laugh at a jest. They would prefer to picture him as sitting, 
like Buddha, with folded arms solemnly and silently listen- 
ing to the psalms sung in his own praise, and without a 
smile on his countenance, or, still more lively work, enjoy- 
ing the groans and curses of his tortured images in that 
wonderful hell, of which such astonishing tales are told 
that it makes one quite anxious (if only for curiosity’s sake) 
to investigate if they can possibly be true. George Bates 
spent his life at a very great sacrifice of pleasure and ease 
for himself in his Maker's service ; and, without doubt, he 
loved that Maker above everything on earth, and yet he 
was blest, or curst, as my readers may consider ii, with 
such risible muscles that they were never quiet for long 
without a mighty effort on their owner’s part. His mouth 
was all over his face as he advanced to the center of the 
room occupied by David Jones and grasped his hand. 

“ Davy, my dear old boy ! ” he exclaimed, as he wrung it 


PARSON JONES. 


247 


again and again, “ I feel like dancing a fandango with joy. 
Why shouldn’t I, old man, when you come to think of it ? 
Your namesake — who by the way was not half the fellow 
you are — danced before the ark, and you have come as an 
ark of refuge for me. What a high old time we will have 
together when the youngster’s gone. His long face is 
enough to make a man cut his throat. I shall be quite 
glad to get it out of my sight. And how are you ? Not 
looking so ill as 1 expected to see you, but that’s all the 
better. I will remember that you are a sick man, and not 
work you too hard at first.” 

“ My dear George, I’m not ill in that way. The more 
work you give me to do, the sooner I shall get well. But 
it is so pleasant to see your cheery face again. I feel as if 
I had forgotten how to laugh of late. It will do me all the 
good in the world to hear your old guffaw burst out at some 
silly story.” 

“ I am as bad as ever, David, upon my word I am. I’m 
a disgrace to the profession and quite aware of it. Do you 
know, a poor woman was relating the story of her son’s 
death to me this morning, and though I felt deeply for her 
— I did, indeed, old boy — yet when she went on to tell me 
that the cause of his death was a ‘ tabernacle ’ (instead of 
a tubercle) on his lungs, I had to bury my face in my 
handkerchief. The poor soul thought I was weeping with 
her, and kept on patting me on the back and saying, ‘ Now, 
minister dear, don’t take on so, he’s got rid of it by this 
time. The Lord’s removed it from him,’ till I was nearly 
hysterical. I shall never be cured Davy, never ! I shall go 
down into my grave laughing, I shall indeed.” 

“You’ll come up laughing, if anyone does,” was the 
rejoinder of his friend, but at that moment Mrs. Nelson 
appeared at the door and regularly hustled them both down- 
stairs. 


248 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Now, what are you keeping Mr. Jones up here chatter- 
ing for, Mr. George ! ” she exclaimed sharply, “ when your 
dinner’s been on the table for the last ten minutes. Go 
down to it, do ! If you don’t, some miserable creature will 
be calling, and then it will be ‘ O Nelson, it’s no use. I 
must go ! ’ and it’ll be no dinner again to-day, as it was 
yesterday. I only hope, now Mr. Jones has come, that 
we’ll have some sense in the house. I warrant his good 
lady don’t let him go without his victuals four times in the 
week.” 

“ If his good lady only bullies him half as much as you 
do me, I pity him,” cried George, laughing merrily. You 
see what an old tartar she is, Davy. She won’t let me call 
my life my own. I would have married long ago and got 
her turned out, only she wouldn’t let me. The woman’s 
my curse ! ” 

“ Well, curse or no curse, you’ll go and eat your dinner 
while it’s hot, Mr. George, or I’ll lock the front door and 
throw the key away. A beautiful rumpsteak pudding, too, 
and ten minutes out of the pot. It is a wicked shame to let 
good food spoil after such a fashion.” 

“ Come along, Davy, then, and discuss the rumpsteak 
pudding, for which Nelson is so famous. You won’t expect 
palatial fare here, I hope, old man. We are very simple 
livers and consider one dish enough at a time.” 

“ And all on account of a host of cormorants as cling to 
the master, like barnacles to a ship’s bottom, Mr. Jones,” 
grumbled the housekeeper as she followed them downstairs. 
“ Mr. George might live as handsome as any gentleman in 
the land, but he feeds half the parish as well as himself.” 

“ Well, well, nurse,” replied Mr. Bates, with a broad 
smile, “I eat as much as I can, and no man can do more. 
You want me to get as broad as I’m long, so that no nise 
girl will ever look at me. I believe you want to marry me 


PARSON JONES. 249 

yourself, or you wouldn’t try so hard to destroy all my 
chances with the women.” 

“ Oh, now, go along with your nonsense, Mr. George, 
do,” responded the housekeeper, as she ushered the two 
gentlemen into the dining room. 


XVI. 

Mr. Neville was waiting for them and the table was 
spread. George Bates said a short grace, somewhat after 
the fashion of the children’s, and Parson Jones reverently 
joined in it. But Mr. Neville stood at the end of the table 
with his eyes closed for fully a minute after they had sat 
down, after which he solemnly crossed himself and took his 
seat, Mrs. Nelson, meanwhile, sniffing loudly behind her 
master’s chair. When the covers were removed, the repast 
was seen to consist of a vulgarly large rump steak and 
kidney pudding, and cauliflowers and potatoes. 

You see your dinner, David,” said Mr. Bates. 

“ And a very good one, too, George,” returned the par- 
son ; “ there’s nothing I like better than rumpsteak pud- 
ding.” 

“ Nelson,” exclaimed the master presently, as he fished 
out an oyster from the pudding, and held it up on the end 
of a fork. 

“ Well, Mr. George,” said Mrs. Nelson apologetically, 
I thought that, as Mr. Jones was here, I might indulge in 
a few oysters in the pudding.” 

“Woman, do you want to drag us down to perdition? 
Whoever heard of oysters in a rumpsteak pudding, except 
among the thoughtless and the gay ? Davy, old man, do 
you dare to partake of them ? ” 


250 


PARSON JONES. 


“ I’m so hungry, George, that I fancy I could partake of 
anything, especially if it’s good.” 

“ The sin be on your own head then,” replied Mr. Bates, 
helping him to an extra share of oysters. “Jack, won’t 
you join us ? ” 

“ Excuse me,” said the Reverend John Neville, “ but it is 
Friday.” 

At these words Parson Jones looked up in amazement, 
to see that the speaker was, somewhat ostentatiously, munch- 
ing a piece of dry bread. 

“ Friday ! ” he exclaimed ; “but we are not Catholics.” 

“ Excuse me, sir,” repeated the Reverend John Neville. 
“ but we are Catholics, if we are nothing else; and the 
canon demands that we shall fast on every Friday.” 

“ And teach our grandmothers to suck eggs into the 
bargain,” interposed George Bates pleasantly ; “ all right. 
Jack, do as your conscience dictates to you, but don’t 
attempt to introduce fasting and confession at Llanty- 
gollen, or I shall send for you back again before you have 
been there a fortnight.” 

The Reverend Jack looked aggrieved, but answered 
nothing; and soon the conversation was monopolized by the 
two long parted friends. 

“ Let me see, Davy, how long is it since we met ? ” said 
George Bates. 

“ It is quite twelve years, George. If you remember, we 
saw each other at the convocation at Cardiff, about six 
months before my marriage.” 

“ Yes, yes, to be sure. But what a time to be separated. 
Why did we not think of meeting before ? Now that I see 
you again, I wonder how I have done without you for so 
long. And the wife and the little ones ? How do they get 
on ? How many babies are there by this time, Davy ? ” 

“ Four, George, two boys and two girls, and they all 


PARSON JONES. 


251 


flourish, thank yon. My wife and mother, too, are wonder- 
fully well. We have much to be thankful for in the way of 
health; but Llanty-gollen is a wonderfully healthy place.” 

“ And yet you have managed to fall ill. How is that, 
Davy ?” 

The parson colored as he replied : 

We will talk about it by and by, George,” and resumed 
discussion of the rumpsteak pudding; but the subject was 
not allowed to drop. 

“You approve, then, of the married state for priests, 
sir,” said the Reverend John Neville, addressing David 
Jones. 

“ I am not a priest,” replied the parson wonderingly. 

George Bates went off into a peal of laughter. 

“ The Reverend Jack’s eyes will come out of his head 
in another minute, if you don’t take care,” he said. “ He 
calls us all ‘priests’: that’s the proper Anglican term. 
‘ Parson’ used to be good enough in our day, usedn’t it, 
Davy ? Does he approve of marriage for priests. Jack ? 
Why, of course he does, or he wouldn’t be married. But 
he doesn’t think it good for boys, if that’s what you’re 
aiming at.” 

“ Mr. Bates, you wound me extremely,” replied the young- 
ster ; “ you know, as well as I do, that I have consecrated 
myself to the Church, and regard marriage, and all its 
attending cares and indulgences, as utterly unfit for one 
who is dedicated to the service of God.” 

“ Well, keep your Romish opinions to yourself at my 
table, my lad,” replied Mr. Bates rather roughly. “You 
know quite well that your father placed you with me in 
hopes of getting them out of your head, and I have stood 
guarantee to my friend here that you will not attempt to 
spread them at Llanty-gollen. If you abuse my confidence, 
remember, I will be the first to report you to the bishop. 


252 


PARSON JONES. 


I’ll have no Romanizing among my parishioners, not that I 
have anything against the Catholics, who are, as a rule, much 
more in earnest than ourselves. But I won’t stand by and 
see a man sailing under false colors. If you are at heart a 
Catholic, go and join them and place yourself under obed- 
ience to the Catholic Church.” 

“ Mr. Bates, you cannot think of what you are saying,” 
exclaimed the young curate with unaffected horror. 
“Place myself — I, who belong to the One True Church, 
who hold the Faith once delivered to the saints — under the 
jurisdiction of our greatest enemies, the men who have 
stolen our Liturgy, who have perverted our unadulterated 
Faith ” 

“ Oh, go along ! ” cried George Bates impatiently. “ I’m 
sick of all that twaddle. Every man who feels a stirring 
for better things within him declares that his faith is the 
only true one, forgetting that our Great Example, Christ, 
allowed of no divisions, or creeds, or sects in the Church he 
instituted on earth, but declared over and over again that 
‘ Love was the fulfilling of the law.’ Take care, Neville, 
and young men like you, the outcome of the powerful 
brains of Pusey, and Keble, and Newman, and Manning, 
that while you preach to others you are not yourselves cast- 
aways. For very little of the dear Christ’s love or humility 
enters into your religion. Be careful how you promulgate 
a doctrine which may not be fitted for the digestion of all 
souls alike, and taking their bread from them give them a 
stone instead. What will you say if hereafter you should 
be confronted with the unhappy souls whom your teaching 
may have led astray from the fold which suited them best, 
and hear the solemn answer, ‘ Since ye did it not unto one 
of these, the least of all my brethren, ye did it not unto 
me ’ ? ” 

“Then would you forbid all teaching and preaching. 


PARSON JONES. 


253 


sir ? ” said the Reverend John, who had grown rather red 
during this harangue. 

“ Certainly not, Jack,” was the rejoinder. “ We are here 
for no other purpose but to preach and teach — both laity 
and ministers ; but we should preach more by our lives 
than with our lips. That’s the sort of sermon that finds its 
way to men’s hearts — the life of love and self-sacrifice. 
They believe in that more than in a thousand sermons, 
which, as a rule, are not worth listening to. Preach, my 
boy, as much as you like, but preach the law of Christ and 
the love of Christ ; and don’t bother your head about fast- 
ing and long prayers, which do no one else any good, and 
yourself a vast amount of harm.” 

“ George, I am so glad to hear you speak as you do,” 
exclaimed the parson. “ You echo my sentiments so 
exactly. How delighted Ernest Solun would be to know 
you. How perfectly you would agree on such subjects.” 

“ And who may Ernest Solun be ? ” 

“ A friend of mine. Yes, I think I may truthfully call 
him my friend, though we only talked together twice. He 
is an American gentleman whom I met at Llanty-gollen, at 
the house of a Captain Jefferson, and he and his views in- 
tere.sted me strangely. He belongs to a sect calling them- 
selves Literalists ; but, in reality, he belongs to no one but 
the Christ, whose precepts and example he tries to carry 
out in every possible way. He is at the present moment 
in Jerusalem, spending a happy time among the haunts the 
Saviour is said to have frequented, and writing me the most 
charming letters thence. He seems to me (if I may use the 
expression) to be just saturated with the love of Christ.” 

“ I should like to know him,” replied Mr. Bates 
thoughtfully. “ Earnestness is such a rare quality nowa- 
days. It is a pleasure to meet it, in whatever cause ; and 
Mr. Solun’s cannot fail to be a good one.” 


254 


PARSON JONES. 


“ It is indeed. He denies himself the common neces- 
saries of life, if others want. He is really the divine love 
put into human form.” 

“ But still divine,” said his friend, “ for love is always so, 
whether its direction be right or wrong. The creature may 
err, but the love is still divine. We misuse it, but it is still 
divine.” 

“ Solun would say just the same,” exclaimed the parson. 
“ Indeed, I am not sure that I have not heard him use your 
very words. To my mind he is the lump of leaven that is 
needed to leaven the world. I wish you knew him. I wish 
I were more like him myself.” 

“ Never mind, old man ! you do quite well enough for 
me ! ” said Bates, as Mrs. Nelson, with a reproachful glance 
at her master, placed a large round of cheese on the table. 
“ Cheese, Davy ? ” he continued cheerfully ; but Parson 
Jones had dined, he said. 

“ Dined J sniffed the housekeeper, indignantly ; now, 
Mr. George, I just give you notice that I’m not going to 
be a party to starving Mr. Jones in this way, and sending 
him back to his good lady thinner than he came. You can 
dine off a joint and cheese yourself, if you’ve a mind to, 
but there’s the honor of the name to keep up, Mr. George, 
which you never seem to think of, and I shall put decent 
dinners on this table while your friend is here, whether you 
like it or not.” 

“ Just listen to the bully ! ” said George, with one of his 
broadest smiles, that made one fear lest his head were 
going to roll off his shoulders. “ All right, nursie, feed him 
up as much as you like. You have my full permission. 
There’ll only be the more left for my little guests out- 
side.” 

“Well, there are enough of them waiting to-day to 
please even you,” grumbled the housekeeper ; and Parson 


PARBOM JONES. 255 

Jones glanced inquisitively at his host. George Bates 
interpreted his look ar ght. 

“ If you’ve really dined, come and see them,” he replied. 
They rose from the table and Mr. Bates led the way into a 
kind of outer room or lobby where some ten or twelve little 
maids and urchins were seated on rush-bottomed chairs. 
They jumped up and bobbed or bowed, according to their 
sex, as soon as the vicar appeared, and he spoke kindly to 
them each in turn. 

“ Well, Bobby ! well Bessie, how’s the cold, and how 
is the poor little burned foot ? Has mother got your boots 
out of pawn yet, Sally, and is the new baby a boy or a 
girl ?” 

“ Please, vicar,” squeaked the childish voice, “ it’s both.” 

“ Ah ! poor mother,” replied George, with genuine sym- 
pathy ; “ here, Mrs. Nelson, that dreadfully improvident 
woman, Mrs. Barnes, has been and had twins. Tell Nancy 
to put on a quart of beef tea for her at once, and look up 
what flannels and other necessaries we may have in the 
store-box. And send them a sovereign,” he added in a 
whisper, “ the man’s out of work, I know, and I can’t go 
round there till the morning.” 

Meanwhile, the housekeeper and her assistant were 
handing round plates to the little starvelings, on which 
was heaped the remains of the rumpsteak pudding off 
which they had dined. 

“Now you know why we have it so vulgarly large,” 
whispered George Bates to the parson : “ I have always a 
little dinner party waiting for the crumbs that fall from 
their vicar’s table. O Davy, if you saw, or rather, when 
you see, the misery,and starvation in an overcrowded city 
like this where half the men are out of work, your heart 
will bleed for them. The poor little children, too, who can 
do nothing to help themselves ; no man who has a heart 


FAJ^SOJV JONES. 


256 

can sit down in comfort and eat his dinner, while he thinks 
of them. And it is so little that one can do after all. Such 
a drop in the ocean — such apparently hopeless, despairing 
work. Why, Billy,” he continued, addressing a little boy 
who was nearly choking over the lumps of pudding he was 
attempting to swallow, “ where is little sister ? why didn’t 
she come with you to-day ? ” 

“ Please, sir,” replied the urchin, she’s got the brown- 
chitis, and doctor, he say she was too bad to go out.” 

“ Bronchitis ! ” exclaimed the vicar. “ Oh, poor little 
mite, that is bad. Here, Mrs. Nelson, do you hear that ? 
Little Rosy Pocock is ill with bronchitis ; you must 
send Ellen round to her mother’s place with the proper 
food for her. Billy says the doctor has seen her, so she 
won’t want medicine, but coals are sure to be useful. 
They must keep up a fire in the child’s room, or they may 
lose her. Send them a sack of coal, there’s a good soul, 
and tell them the proper treatment for the poor baby. I 
beg you won’t forget.” 

“Forget!” repeated the housekeeper, in David Jones’ 
ear, as George Bates walked away to speak to some other 
child, “ as if he wouldn’t be the first to remind me if I 
did forget ? There’s only one person as Mr. George 
ever forgets, Mr. Jones, and that’s his own blessed self. 
He’s an angel upon earth, sir, if ever there was one, and 
would die of hunger sooner than these little ones shouldn’t 
have a meal once in a day. There’ll be another crowd 
round at tea-time, as you’ll see for yourself. Why, Mr. 
George might live on the fat of the land and be giving 
his dinner parties every day if he chose ; but he denies 
himself everything but the merest necessaries of life in 
order that such as these should be filled. But I don’t 
approve of its being carried to such a length, Mr. Jones, 
I don’t indeed ! Mr. George has his own health to con- 


PARSON- JONES. 257 

sider, which is dear to many, and I do hope now that 
you have come, sir (and he do think such a lot of your 
opinion), that you’ll try and coax him out of some of his 
far-fetched ideas.” 

“ Please don’t hope anything from my influence, Mrs. 
Nelson,” said Parson Jones, “for I admire his conduct too 
much to attempt to make him alter it. You would turn him 
from an angel into an ordinary man, and I’m sure you 
would not be pleased with the change. He will have his 
reward, you know, though I’m sure he does not see it.” 

At this juncture George Bates joined them. 

“ David, my dear fellow, I am sure you must be tired with 
your long journey, and I am longing to speak to you alone. 
Come into my study — my sanctum sanctorum. Neville has 
arranged to take my rounds for this evening, so that we may 
enjoy it undisturbed. I feel that you are dying for a smoke. 
Let us go and inhale the fragrant weed together, and fancy 
ourselves back in old Boniface for a while. Oh, what days 
those were, Davy ! I can’t look back on them with the re- 
gret I ought to, for I always loved fun, and I love it still. 
What silly, boyish, idiotic pranks we used to play — at least 
not you, you dear old sobersides — but I and my rapscallion 
lot ; but how laughable they were, and how we used to 
shriek over them : very stupid, I suppose, and unworthy of 
grown men, but awfully funny all the same. I shall never 
forget your face when we dressed up a broomstick and a 
pillow as a lady, and disposed her graceful form on your 
sofa, and you walked into your room and found her there. 
I think we borrowed the clothes from my laundress’ daugh- 
ter — that pretty Mary Rich, do you remember her ? — and 
our efforts were so successful that we were all in love with 
the fair inamorata by the time she was completed. And 
then we hid ourselves in your cupboard, and you came in, 
and commenced stammering and expostulating with your 


258 PARSON JONES. 

unexpected guest, while we stuffed our handkerchiefs into 
our mouths to prevent ourselves screaming out. O Lord ! 
shall I ever forget it ? Your face, Davy, it was simply kill- 
ing. You hadn’t sufficient nous to tell the lady to begone, 
nor sufficient nerve to touch her, and see what she was made 
of. You were most awfully afraid of her — now confess you 
were.” 

David Jones could not help laughing at the reminiscence. 

“ I remember I was very much surprised to find what I 
thought was a lady quartered upon me ; for ladies were not 
much in my way, George, if you call the past to mind.” 

“ So little, Davy, that I was never more astonished than 
when I heard you were married. I did not think you would 
ever see enough of a woman to fall in love with her, or have 
pluck enough to propose if you did.” 

“ I am afraid you have always looked upon me as a great 
goose, and I am still more afraid that you are right.” 

They were in the vicar’s study by this time, and cosily 
ensconced in two armchairs, on either side of the fire. The 
sanctum sanctorum well deserved its name, being situated 
at the back of the house, well removed from the noises of 
the street, and luxuriously furnished with thick carpets, 
handsome bookcases well stored with volumes, carved oak 
furniture, and every other comfort suitable to a library. 

“You see,” said George Bates, as they sat down, “I am not 
quite such an anchorite as my good nurse Nelson would 
make you believe. I consider a man who works hard all 
day, deserves a comfortable sitting room to retire to, and 
take his ease in, after his labor is accomplished. More — I 
think it is a necessity to a wearied brain to have a refuge 
where it may recoup itself when overstrung, and this can 
only be done by complete quiet. I hope you have a con- 
genial resting place for yourself at Llanty-gollen, Davy.” 

“ Pretty well,” replied the parson, with a slight sigh. 


PARSON JONES. 259 

but my stipend is not so large as your’s, George, and I 
have many more demands on it at home.” 

‘‘ Of course, but the cares bring their pleasures with them, 
do they not ? ” 

“ Yes, only one doubts sometimes if a man who has dedi- 
cated his life to his fellow-creatures’ good, is wise or right 
to take such cares upon himself, or to accept such pleasures.” 

George Bates took his pipe out of his mouth and stared 
at him in amazement. 

“ Old man,” he cried, “ you don’t mean to tell me that 
you have taken a leaf out of Jack Neville’s book, and 
turned Puseyite ?” 

“ No, George, decidedly not : I think every man should 
judge for himself in such particulars. Marriage may be 
injudicious for a layman and the best thing in the world 
for a parson. It all depends on circumstances. But what 
I do think is, that there are a number of men in the Church 
who are no more fit for the office than they are to rule over 
England. Men who preach, without any imagination, or 
ideality, or talent for composition — men who minister, who 
do not know the first rules of elocution or declamation — 
men who accept office because there is no better opening 
for them, and burden themselves with the responsibilities 
of wife and children which fetter them so terribly, that if 
their eyes are ever opened to the mistake they have made 
they are unable to amend it, for the chains they have cast 
with their own hands about their feet.” 

“ My dear old friend,” said the vicar earnestly, “ there 
is something wrong with you. You are very much changed. 
Open your heart to me. Who could sympathize with you 
more? From the hour you risked your own life to bring 
comfort home to your dying enemy, mine has been at your 
service. Put confidence in me, Davy. You know I will 
not abuse it ; and if your trouble is one that admits of 


26 o 


FA/? SON JONES. 


alleviation, and it is in my power to help, you know how 
gladly I will do so — even to the whole of my fortune. I owe 
far more than my temporal life to you — I should have lost 
eternity, perhaps, but for your friendship and example. 
I may say I owe all I possess to you : you may suppose 
then how gladly I would put it at your disposal.” 

The parson was too much affected for a few moments to 
be able to reply; and, when he did so, his voice shook. 

“ What am I to say to you ? ” he answered brokenly. “ I will 
tell you all I can ; but it is difficult to explain. My trouble, 
my dear friend, however, does not proceed from the cause 
you seem to imagine. No money can alleviate it. When 
I spoke of not having so much worldly goods as yourself, 
I did not mean that I envied you, or was in any pecuniary 
difficulty. It is true that my stipend of one hundred and 
twenty pounds a year is not sufficient to do more than sup- 
ply my family with the ordinary necessaries of life, but we 
have no extravagant tastes or desires. My children are 
young, and do not as yet cost much to keep. It is true that 
I sometimes look forward to the years to come, and wonder 
how I am to educate and clothe them ; but that is a matter 
for God to decide for me.” 

He paused for a moment, and George Bates supplied the 
hiatus by saying in a tone of interrogation : 

“ Your wife, David ? ” 

“ My wife is far too good a wife for me,” replied the 
parson quickly ; “ she believes in me, which is a great deal 
more than I do myself. George,” he went on suddenly, 
as he leaned across the study table with crossed arms, 
“ George, do you believe in a hell ? ” 

“In the orthodox hell, my dear fellow, with fire and 
brimstone, and a black devil with two horns and a pitch- 
fork ? God forbid ! ” 

“ But it is very much like what we are ordered to preach; 


PARSON JONES. 


261 


it is founded on the description given in the Bible of 
‘ weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ ” 

“ Founded on the interpretation that men have chosen to 
put upon the biblical description, you mean, Davy. My 
dear old man, you are not going to tell me you are racking 
your tender conscience on the subject of dogma." 

“ I am, George, I am. I am racking it on the question of 
the irreconcilibility of the Church’s practice with her doc- 
trine. She orders us to preach one thing from the pulpit, 
while her chief ministers sanction another. The Church 
will not allow a man to think his own thought on any sub- 
ject. She refuses the Holy Communion to one because he 
does not believe in a personal devil — to another because he 
has married a divorced woman. Yet half the ministers 
themselves do not believe in a devil, and the State permits 
divorce. Church and State are supposed to uphold each 
other, but they do not ; and neither of them uphold the 
teaching of their Master, Christ. I am sick of it all, 
George — the flummery that is winked at on one side — 
the hypocrisy that is practiced on the other. Christianity 
is no more like the religion that Christ founded and taught 
than the government of this country is like a Christian 
government. One makes laws that are utterly opposed to 
Christ’s teaching — and the other makes us obey them. 
Look at our bishops and archbishops ! If they were found 
out to be transgressing the seventh or eighth command- 
ments, the world cry out : ‘ Oh, how shocking, and for a 
bishop too ! ’ But they break the second and fourth with 
impunity, and who ever said that one law was to be more 
sacredly kept than the other. Yet bishops make a god of 
their money. Ask them to give up their absurdly large 
revenues and see what they would say to the proposition. 
And they may break the Sabbath day by using their car- 
riages and horses and men servants and maid servants, and 


262 


PARSON JONES. 


wallowing in the luxury which they accept in return for 
their offices. You know, as we all do, that the large rev- 
enues that go to keep up the empty pomp and circum- 
stances of the princes of the Church are a mockery to him 
who said ‘ Whosoever shall be greatest among you, let him 
be your servant.’ ” 

“ David,” said Mr. Bates, “ who has been patting these 
ideas into your head ? ” 

“God, I believe,” said the other, “but through his ser- 
vant, Ernest Solun. And I want to leave the Church, 
George, and I find myself fettered by these dear chains I 
have wound about me and which I know I must never (if I 
would) desert. But it is hard,” he continued, as he buried 
his face in his hands, “ for all the taste has gone out of my 
work for me, if, indeed, it ever possessed any. George, 
my dear George, I feel as if I had been a humbug all my 
life. But I knew no better. I have been like one of my 
own pigs in its sty, wallowing in the mud of my opinions, 
and never striving to free myself and search after the true 
light : content so long as I had health, and enough to eat, 
and a comfortable home ; not dreaming that my apathy and 
self-satisfaction might drag those in my charge down to the 
nethermost hell with myself.” 

“Stop ! stop ! Davy, I will not listen to such an unjust 
diatribe. Why, dear old man, you must be indeed ill and 
looking at everything in a black light. You are far more 
likely to drag people up to heaven by your example than 
down the other way. Why, where could you find a more 
devoted son, and husband, and father than you are : 5^es, 
and a more devoted friend. Davy, don’t talk to me in 
such terms of yourself, for I will not listen to you. You 
must come and see the hopeless sort of work I am doing, 
and you will soon alter your opinions and be thankful to 
return to your happy, peaceful little Llanty-gollen," 


PARSON JONES. 


263 


“ No, George, I shall never be happy there again. Some- 
times I think I shall never return there, except to remove 
all my belongings. Let me finish what I was saying to 
you. I have been living all my life in a sort of dream ; but 
I have had a terrible awakening. Because God was so 
good, and my surroundings were so pleasant, I fancied I was 
all right, a proper Christian man, whom the devil within me 
would never think of assailing. Indeed, I did not imagine 
there was any devil there. My old mother believes me to 
be unmitigated perfection, my wife knows no better than to 
follow her lead, and my little children have never given me 
any trouble. My parishioners are a sleepy, indifferent lot, 
who are quite satisfied if they get their two services on 
Sundays, and see me going about among the old men and 
women of the parish on week-days. And there has been 
no life among the whole lot of us, we have all been asleep 
together ; and, when at last I wake and look round to see 
what I can do to wake them up too, I find myself hedged 
round by, not only the cut and dried ecclesiastical laws, but 
my people’s belief in them ; and I see that, if a revolution is 
to be effected, the whole system will have to be revised, and 
that if a man is honest he cannot preach the holiness of a 
Church that does not strictly follow the example and pre- 
cepts of her Founder. What good is the Church doing, 
George ? Here and there an earnest preacher like yourself 
is a shining light amid the darkness ; but you see that what 
your starving people want is not the bread of life but baked 
dough wherewith to fill their empty stomachs ; and you can 
find no better way to make religion attractive to them than 
by connecting it with a good meal. If religion were true in 
this country there would be no empty stomachs to be filled ; 
and then these poor creatures might be induced to believe 
in a God who looked after them as well as after the bishops 
of the Church. It is a fallacy to say that misery makes us 


264 


PARSON JONES. 


better. It hardens us. Make a man happy and he begins 
to think that there must be someone who cares for him, 
and gratitude springs from the seed of contentment. And 
with the rich ? How does it fare with them ? How many 
of them attend church for the love of God ? The majority 
go there because their neighbors do, and they would not 
like to seem peculiar ; and the remainder because they are 
taken by elders, or it has become a custom which they are 
superstitious enough to think would result in some mis- 
fortune if they discontinued. For one man in this age who 
attends church for the love of God and the wish to do him 
honor, a thousand stay at home ; for one woman, perhaps a 
couple of hundred. And 1 do not ascribe this to the fact 
that women are really more pious than men, but less strong 
to have the courage of their opinions. The Church is 
going down, George ; year by year she becomes less popu- 
lar ; year by year her ministers see how difficult it is to 
make her services attractive to the people. What is the 
reason ? Is the world more worldly, or are we less saintly ? 
All this Ritualistic revival — what is it but an attempt to 
infuse a little excitement into Church observance ? And it 
has succeeded in a measure ; but can anyone say that a 
fervor born of excitement can do good ? If the worship of 
God is not attractive enough from the love of him, no ritual 
can make it more acceptable in his eyes. What resem- 
blance is there between the Church that Christ instituted 
and the Church of to-day, with its squabbles, and actions at 
law, and rebellion against higher authority? Were he to 
come back he would not acknowledge or recognize it. He 
would find himself thrust on one side to make room for 
civil and ecclesiastical laws, and the humble Nazarene for- 
gotten in the worship paid to the dignitaries of a Church in 
which he declared there should be none.” 

“ And all this means, Davy ? ” inquired George Bates. 


PARSON JONES. 


265 


“ That I am sick and tired, George, of working for an 
establishment which I no longer believe to be infallible ; 
that I should like to run away from it all and preach Christ, 
and him crucified, in my own words and in my own way.” 

As Parson Jones uttered the last sentence, he laid down 
his head on the table and put his hands before it. 

“ You have not told me all, David,” said his friend quietly. 

“ Why should you say so ? ” demanded the parson, raising 
his eyes rather shamefacedly. 

“ I don’t know why exactly, but I feel it. You have 
undergone some great trouble, Davy, which has, for a while 
only, let us hope, sickened you with living, and you exper- 
ience that weariness of all things which every man has 
known at such moments. Tell me what it is.” 

“ I cannot tell you, George ; don’t ask me. I have 
thought, because I was environed by walls of safety, that I 
could never be exposed to danger ; that, because I had been 
preserved from temptation, it would never come my way ; 
and I believed all this, not for its true reason, but because I 
was such a saint that my religion made me safe. Not 
exactly that, you know,” said the parson with a sad smile, 
“ but next door to it. And I have found out that I am the 
weakest of God’s creatures : not fit to be trusted to take 
two steps by myself : that my safeguards are rotten : my 
walls of defense so much tinder ; and I, who imagined I 
was an example of every virtue, simply because I had never 
been tried, am — am ” 

George Bates laid his hand on that of his friend. 

“ There, there, dear old chum, that’s enough. I under- 
stand. You are passing through a time of humiliation. 
We have all had them, and they’re hard enough to bear, 
God knows. But it will die away, Davy. The dark hour 
will give place to the perfect day, and you will see then 
why it was permitted you to bear,” 


266 PARSON JONES. 

“ It will not pass so easily as you think,” groaned Parson 
Jones. 

“ Is it this that has made you wish to leave the 
Church.?” 

“Oh, no. I am not quite so cowardly as that. The 
other thought has been in my mind for many a day. But 
this last trouble has opened my eyes more fully to my 
danger, the danger I run of being an unprofitable servant. 
My heart, thrown back upon itself, seems burning with the 
love of Christ. I feel like a man who has loved a fellow- 
creature very much, yet slept while he was in need of him. 
I have dreamed away twenty years of my life ; let me make 
up for it now. That is my feeling : and then I remember 
the wife and little ones who hamper me at home, and 
wonder if their existence is not another wrong to my 
Redeemer’s service.” 

“ No, Davy, you must not think that. It is such thoughts 
that have made men sacrifice their instincts (or try to do 
so) to the worship of God, and throw themselves into the 
way of worse temptations. Depend on it, my dear fellow, 
God who made us knew a great deal better than we do, and 
would not have given man a craving to be mated, would 
not have made us male and female unless he had intended 
us to be mated ; and never meant us to put an unnatural 
restraint on our natural feelings. He left us free agents in 
the matter. It suits some men better to remain single. I 
confess it does me. I am sorry for poor little chilled and 
starving children ; but a family of my own would bore me 
to extinction, and I have never met the woman yet whom I 
could endure for a perpetual companion. But others want 
love and companionship. They are like children all their 
lives, and are miserable unless someone looks after them. 
If you have a good wife, dear boy, thank God for her. 
They are scarce in the world, and they stay beside you 


PARSON- JONES. 


267 


when all else has passed away. As for any ether trouble 
you may have, you know where to take it. Give it to God. 
He bears so many burdens for us that one more or less can’t 
make much difference tp him. Cast it away from you. 
Tell hint all about it. He is the on|y one who will not fail 
to understand and make every allowance for your human 
weakness and frailty.” 

“ George, you talk exactly like Solun : as if you walked 
and talked with God daily,” said Parson Jones. 

“ I shall be jealous of this Solun presently,” replied the 
vicar. “ Where is the beggar now, David ? ” 

“ In the Holy Land ; but I have heard from him lately. 
He wrote me such a beautiful letter. I must read it to you. 
He is always urging me to become a missionary like him- 
self. But my home ties are the obstacle to my doing as I 
should wish in the matter.” 

“ Why don’t you write to him and tell him all your ideas 
on the subject ? ” 

“Would it be of any use ?” rejoined David Jones, sor- 
rowfully. 

'“Look here, old man,” replied Bates, “ I cannot help 
guessing from what you have told me that there is a reason 
for your wishing to leave Llanty-gollen, over and above the 
conviction that you are not doing God service there. If I 
am correct, I think you are wise. ‘ He who fights and runs 
away,’ you know, ‘ will live to fight another day.’ For 
some diseases there is no remedy but excision. I would do 
all in my power (as I need not tell you) to procure you 
another cure ; but my power is not great, and there is sure 
to be a difficulty with the bishop of the diocese. And per- 
haps you would rather leave England altogether.” 

“Yes,” acquiesced the- other feverishly, “ I would much 
rather — in fact I feel I fnust leave England^ if it is in my 
power to do so.” 


268 


PARSON- JONES. 


“Well, my advice to you is, to confide your wishes to 
your friend. Is he rich 

“He is not rich in himself, because it is against his 
principles to keep any money by him, while his fellow-crea- 
tures are in want. But he tells me that he has other 
peoples’ purses at his command ; and that, if I make up my 
mind to. join him, the funds will be forthcoming.” 

“ He does not urge you to give up your wife and children, 
or any such nonsense, I hope,” said George Bates. 

“ On the contrary, he assured me that in any plan for my 
benefit they would be included. He has not married, 
because he considers marriage to be one of those luxuries 
that zeal for his work impels him to resign.” Mr. Bates 
made a comical grimace. 

“ Mr. Solun and I should not agree there,” he said, “ I 
should consider the perpetration of matrimony the greater 
sacrifice of the two. Depend on it, my dear friend, that 
there has never been a husband in this world who has not 
felt his lawful partner pall upon him at times. Women are 
very fascinating creatures, at least some of them are ; but 
the fascination lasts only while they remain beyond our 
reach. Turn them into wives, make them your daily and 
hourly companions, see them sick or sorry, untidy or 
cross, sulky or unreasonable, and the fascination soon 
gives place to endurance. They are very like horses. You 
find your nag has a spavin, and you rush to change 
him for a promising looking colt, who goes lame in a 
fortnight. Keep to the old mare. It will be safer for 
everybody.” 

The parson saw that his friend had guessed the reason of 
his trouble ; and wondered, in his simplicity, how he could 
have betrayed himself so soon. 

“ I am much attached to my wife, George,” he said, 
reprovingly. “ She has been an excellent wife to me, and 


Parson Jones. 269 

mother to my children ; and nothing on earth could ever 
make me forget my obligations to her.” 

“ Of course, of course,” replied his companion, “and we 
must think of some plan while you are with me, by which 
your desires may be gratified, without the necessity of a 
separation from your family. You know what I consider I 
owe to you, Davy : it is needless then for me to say that 
were it to the half of my fortune I would share my means 
with you. I am no longer dependent on my stipend for a 
living, as you may have heard. My uncle, who was my 
god-father, died a few years back and left me an ample for- 
tune ; so that money need be no object in the furtherance of 
your designs.” 

“ This is the first I have heard of your good luck, 
George,” said the parson ; “and yet you continue to live on 
in this terrible neighborhood. Why is that ? ” 

“ I love my work, and I have conceived an interest in the 
people. They are so ignorant and so wicked. White- 
chapel probably provides more work for the police authori- 
ties than any other district in London,” replied George 
Bates carelessly. 

“You are a true missionary, George. You will sympa- 
thize with my desire to go forth a free man to preach and 
pray as the spirit may move me.” 

“ I. do perfectly, my dear Davy. I should have suggested 
your joining me here, had it not been for the wife and little 
ones ; but you must not bring them from the pure air of 
Wales to the noxious vapors of Whitechapel. They would 
pine and sicken like my little proNgis do. But here comes 
Nelson with tea and hot toast. Old woman, if you stuff me 
up in this fashion, I shall grow corpulent as a Catholic 
priest in Lent. I shall no longer be able to appear in coat 
and trousers, but be obliged to don one of those long cas- 
socks which you admire so much.” 


2^6 PARSON JONES. 

“ Now, Mr. George, if ever you did such a thing I should 
pull it off your back.” 

“ Pull it off my back ? Is that the way you speak to one 
of the pillars of the Church ? Would you lay violent hands 
upon my sacred cloth ? She is a nice specimen of my teach- 
ing, Davy.” 

“ It was I who taught you your ABC, Mr. George,” 
retorted the woman, “ and I wouldn’t stay another day in 
the house if you put on one of those nasty hassocks ” 

“ Cassocks — cassocks — nursey,” interposed her master. 

“Well ! hassocks or cassocks, it don’t make much differ- 
ence ; for never a one goes on your back, Mr. George, while 
I can prevent it. Would you want to look like that Mr. 
Neville, half woman and half man ? Besides, it would mis- 
become your figure, it would indeed.” 

“ Well, it’s very hard that I can’t do as I like,” retorted 
Bates. “ I never interfere with your ribbons, Nelson. 
You’ve got a hideous cap on to-day. Those green ribbons 
make you look yellow as a guinea. They make me quite 
bilious. That was the reason I couldn’t eat as much pud- 
ding as I ought to have done to-day. Yet I never com- 
plained, did I, Davy ?” 

The old housekeeper, who prided herself on the becom- 
ingness of her attire, and had donned a new cap in honor of 
Parson Jones’ arrival, flushed under this exordium and 
twisted the ribbons about her head in a nervous manner. 

“Bilious, Mr. George,” she exclaimed, “and make me 
look yellow. Why, this cap didn’t come from Whitechapel, 
if that’s what you’re thinking of ; for I wouldn’t wear one of 
their unfashionable things on my head for ever so. This 
cap came from Peter Robinson’s. I went into town 
expressly to buy it ; and the young lady who served me said 
it was the newest style, and suited me as if it had been 
made for me.” 


PARSON JONES. 


271 


George Bates went off into one of his peals of laughter. 
He was always amusing himself at the expense of his old 
nurse, who could never be made to distinguish fun from 
earnest. 

“Just listen to her, Davy,” he exclaimed ; “ did you ever 
hear such sentiments from the lips of a respectable vicar’s 
housekeeper before ? I told you she was setting her cap 
at me. That erection of green and yellow was all meant 
for my edification. The woman is running me down. She 
will have me by hook or by crook before she has done. Its 
an iniquitous plot : and I so young, too.” 

Mrs. Nelson’s look of perplexity changed to a broad 
smile. 

“ Ah, now then, its only your nonsense, Mr. George. 
You young, indeed. Why, I took you from your mother, 
and that's forty years ago if it’s a day. And as for my cap, 
I bought it in honor of Mr. Jones’ coming, and not at all 
for you, so there, sir ! ” And, with an air of having gained 
the victory, she left the room. 

“ The dearest old creature in all the world, Davy,” re- 
marked the vicar, as he wiped his streaming eyes. “ I 
don’t know what I should do without her, nor the children 
of the parish either, for the matter of that. She mothers 
the whole lot, though she grumbles over it all the time. 
Ah, we can’t quite do without a woman’s love and care in this 
world, brave it out as we may; and you remember, Davy, that 
I never received much affection from my family in the old 
days : indeed this old woman is about the only mother I 
have ever had, and I love her almost like a son. But you 
have always been your mother’s pride. You are very 
lucky.” 

“ I know it,” replied the parson heartily. “ No man 
ever had a fonder or a better mother ; and I c’onfess to you, 
George, that in contemplating any change in my life the 


PARSON JONES. 


^72 

thought of her is the first thought with me. From infancy 
to manhood, I can never remember to have heard one un- 
kind or hasty word from her lips. She has such a pride in 
my profession, too, such perfect and unmitigated faith in 
the Church, that I think sometimes that if I were to tell her 
that I had discovered any flaw in her doctrine it would 
break her heart.” 

“ Then you mustn’t tell her so, Davy. Don’t forget that 
love is the fulfilling of the law ; and, if you wound this tender 
mother of yours or render her last days unhappy, in order 
to gratify your own desire to set things, which are none of 
your doing, right, you will disobey the chief of Christ’s 
commandments.” 

'‘‘Love, that is, self-abnegation, is the fulfilling of the 
law!” repeated Parson Jones thoughtfully. “ Yes, those 
are Ernest Solun’s very words ; and that, without sacrifice, 
there is no love. And my sacrifices have been very few. 
I have never been called upon to give up anything for God. 
I am an unprofitable servant.” 

“ We generally have to find our own sacrifices, Davy. God 
does not seek them out and lay them at our feet. However 
little we may possess, there is usually something we can give 
up if we try. But here am I teaching you, my dear friend, 
at whose feet I am far more fit to sit and learn. Well, I 
have finished my pipe and must write a letter or two. What 
will you do ? ” 

“ I think, George, that, with your leave, I will go to bed. 
My journey has tired me more than I thought, and I must 
write a line to my wife before I sleep. Good-night, dear 
old fellow, and may God bless you ! I shall be quite fresh 
for our rounds to-morrow.” 

And with a cordial grasp of the hand, the two friends 
parted. 


PARSON- JONES. 


273 


XVII. 

The next day opened brightly for Parson Jones, for it 
was heralded by a letter from Ernest Solun, forwarded in 
one from poor Selina, written a few hours after his depart- 
ure. In it she wrote in her still girlish handwriting. “ I 
have been crying so much since you left us, my dearest 
husband, that I can hardly see to write these few lines ; but 
the inclosed letter from Jerusalem has just arrived and I 
think you will like to receive it as soon as possible.” 

“ Dear, unselfish woman ! ” thought the parson, “ she lays 
aside her own grief in order to remember what will give me 
pleasure.” And he pressed the letter almost involuntarily 
to his lips. But the next sentence made him frown. 

“ Dear Verena came to see me this afternoon. She 
guessed I should be in sore need of comfort ; but indeed I 
think she feels your going almost as much as we do. We 
helped each other to put your room tidy, and cried over 
half the things we packed away. I suppose Mr. Neville 
must have your study to sit and write in ; but Verena and I 
decided we could not bear to see him using your writing 
case and inkstand, so we put them away. And Verena has 
carried off your favorite old chair into her own room ; and 
declares she will work a cover for it before you return. Oh ! 
what a long, long time that seems to be now ; but, after a 
day or two, Verena says it will go much quicker. How 
clever and sensible she is. She seems to know everything. 
She is the sort of woman you should have married, dearest 
Davy, instead of poor, stupid me. She would have helped 
you on with your work in every way better than I can 
do.” 

“Why will they torture me so ?” thought the parson, as 
he glanced helplessly around the room. “ All my aim and 


274 


PARSON JONES. 


ambition is, to keep that girl’s memory out of my mind, and 
it crops up at every turn, lo, like a temptation from hell.” 

“ Verena and I,” Selina went on, ‘‘ want you to tell us 
exactly how you wish us to behave to this Mr. Neville. I 
suppose he will be here by to-morrow evening. Shall we 
leave him to find out all about the old men and women by 
himself, or shall we take him to the cottages ? And what 
about Putley and the other districts ? Are we to drive him 
round, or can we trust him with Toby ? Grandmamma tells 
me to say how she shall miss her drives with you, and how 
much she prays that your trip to London may do you good 
and restore you to health. Verena promises^ she will not 
flirt with the new curate ; but I am sure, if he is not already 
engaged, that he will fall in love with her : who could 
help it ? She is sitting by my side as I write, looking at me 
with those great, big sparkling eyes of hers, and she is posi- 
tively lovely. I pity poor Mr. Neville, if she turns them on 
him, don’t you ? ” 

David Jones crushed the letter in his hand at this junc- 
ture, and turned eagerly to peruse that of Mr. Solun. It 
was still dated from “ Les trois Bergers.” 

‘‘ Here I am still, you see, my dear friend ; but I have 
received my marching orders and hasten to acquaint you 
with them. My work here is finished for the time being ; 
and I have to proceed, with as little delay as possible, to 
New Zealand. But the delay includes my returning to 
England for a while, to secure a companion in my work. 
Two of our brethren are already there, doing good work 
among the Maoris ; and they require two more. My Chief, 
whom we call so in order to distinguish him only (for, as I 
told you, we acknowledge no Chief but Christ), has directed 
me to proceed to England forthwith ; and a few weeks will 
see me there. The choice of my companion he leaves to 


PARSON JONES. 


275 


me, but I need not tell^you to whom my thoughts flew, 
and that without hesitation ; for I would rather have you 
with me, my dear Jones, than any man I know. You with 
your tender conscience, your pure thoughts, your straight- 
forward mind, your courage in speaking what you believe 
to be right, and, shall I add, your growing distrust in the 
present purity of the Faith delivered to the Saints. You 
are the very man, who, once set at liberty from the chains 
that at present check your ardor and entangle your speech, 
I can see drawing your thousands and tens of thousands 
into the fold of Christ. Will you join us? I can hear you 
answering me with another question, ‘ But what about my 
wife and little ones? What about their subsistence?' 
I think I can settle that. You are not asked to enrol your- 
yourself in our ranks as a Literalist. I am authorized to 
offer you the post as a paid member of our community. 
We do not suppose that a man without visible means of his 
own can volunteer to assist us. Everyone of us who has 
no private income is paid a stipend the same as you are ; 
and we leave it to himself how much of his earnings he 
spends on himself and his family. But the New Zealand 
Mission is a permanent one, and each missionary who goes 
out there on our behalf receives a grant of land from 
Government, on which the community build a house for 
him, If you make up your mind to join us, I will take 
care that your house and land are sufficient for the need of 
yourself and your family ; and you, with your love and 
knowledge of gardening, will soon make the wilderness 
blossom like the rose. What do you say to my proposal ? 
I am praying daily that our dear Master may incline your 
heart to accept it, for it would crown my own life there, to 
have you for a fellow-worker and companion. When I go 
out I shall have to give up my roving propensities ; though I 
may be, for a time, migratory, as much of the direction of the 


276 


PARSOiV JONES. 


community’s settlements has been committed to my charge. 
But, as a rule, we shall be in the same place ; and, if your 
work calls you away, I promise that the wife and little ones 
shall be properly protected during your absence. Your 
salary will be much the same as in Llanty-gollen, at least I 
know it will not be less ; but the living will be far cheaper, and 
you will find all the brethren ready to share their good 
things with you. One of them — the richest man in our 
community, in whom I have confided all my hopes and 
wishes concerning you — has placed at my disposal a 
sum of several hundred pounds, to be used however you 
may see fit, in the event of your joining us. The old 
mother, would, of course, go with you. Well, I can promise 
you that in the lovely pure and bracing air of New Zealand 
you will keep her beside you for ten, or perhaps twenty, 
years longer than you will do in England. I know of an 
old man who has an only son settled out there, and who, 
on feeling that his own end was rapidly approaching, ven- 
tured on the voyage with the sole intention of dying, if 
possible, in his child’s arms. But the beautiful climate so 
rejuvenated him, that he took out a fresh lease of life ; and, 
instead of dying, he is living still, hale and hearty in the 
midst of his grandchildren. You will bring up your boys 
to be farmers or stock-drivers ; your daughters will marry 
men who have made their money in the Bush ; and you 
will die in the midst of your family. And don’t imagine 
that we shall give you no time for your gardening and 
home duties. What we want, are men who will dwell 
among these Maoris and be their friends : who will not 
only preach at them once on Sundays, but set a good 
example in their midst : show them what the love of Christ 
does for a man, how it can make him a good husband, and 
father, and neighbor : make him happier into the bargain, 
and more industriotis and wealthier ; and they will follow 


PARSON JONES. 


277 


suit, first because it is more to their advantage, and after- 
ward, it is to be hoped, because it is more to their happi- 
ness and that of their people. So you see I should not 
have written, ‘ Come out to New Zealand and be a mis- 
sionary,’ but ‘ Come out and be a farmer, and set a good 
example to your savage brothers, for whom Christ died, 
the same as for yourself.’ 

'‘I leave Jerusalem the Golden to-morrow, traveling by 
slow stages to the frontier, so I cannot expect an answer to 
this letter. But, as soon as my feet touch English shore, I 
will send you a line and ask for it. Meanwhile, I shall 
pray daily to our Lord, and say, ‘Make him come, dear 
Christ ! — make him come, not only because I want to have 
his society and his assistance, but because I feel it will be 
for his own happiness and thy glory.’ And now you 
must keep this letter in your pocket and read it over once 
every day until you have thoroughly sifted the matter. 
And may the Lord help you, my brother, to decide as he 
thinks best and not as we do.” 

Parson Jones perused this epistle with sparkling eyes and 
flushingcheeks. All thoughts of Verena Shaw were immedi- 
ately driven from his mind by this greater and more absorb- 
ing subject. There was no doubt who occupied the larger 
portion of his heart. He might mourn as he did mourn, 
suffer, as he had suffered ; but, for every grief in life, David 
Jones had this marvelous panacea in his love for God. 
The hands that held the sheet of paper trembled as if 
Verena’s lay in his clasp, and his honest gray eyes swam in 
unshed tears. Were it only possible, he thought, that this 
great good could come to him, how happy he should be. 
A new life in a new land ; a land flowing with milk and 
honey ; a land where he might live among his fellow-crea- 
tures and preach to them, not cut and dried sermons, but 


278 


PARSON JONES. 


by his blameless life ; a land (his heart whispered) where 
the terrible temptation which had assailed him here would 
be powerless to intrude itself, where he might forget, God 
helping him, that any fairer woman existed than Selina ; 
that any stronger interest filled his mind than that which 
centered in his children ; that he had ever met, or spoken 
to, or gazed at the girl whose image he was trying so hard 
to banish from his heart. The idea of never seeing or 
speaking to Verena Shaw again made the parson shudder, 
as at the thought of a dreaded but inevitable operation ; but, 
though he shuddered, he never dreamt of evading it. His 
first words when he met George Bates at the breakfast 
table were naturally of what filled his thoughts. 

“ My dear fellow ! ” cried George, “ it is the very thing 
for you ! With your feelings, you ought to jump at it ! 
Fancy ! a life in New Zealand ! How glorious ! I have 
often longed myself to visit that country. I wonder if Mr. 
Solun has another vacancy for me.” 

“ My dear friend, you would never leave this cure.” 

“ No ! no ! I was joking as usual. But, Davy, you must 
not hesitate ! If you refused, you would regret it all your 
life long.” 

“You forget my mother, George,” replied the parson 
gloomily ; “ I could not go without her, and I do not think 
any persuasion would induce her to agree to the plan. She 
would regard expatriation as only next in horror to my 
quitting the Church of England. You said yourself, last 
night, that if it was to give her pain, to whom I owe so 
much, it must not be.” 

“ True ! but she may be amenable to persuasion. When 
Mrs. Jones is made to understand the great good it would 
be for you and your children she would surely not be so 
unreasonable as to put her veto on the plan.” 

“ I cannot say, George, but old people are very often 


PARSON JONES. 


279 


unreasonable, as you well know. And if my mother suf- 
fered in either mind or body by my selfish gratification of 
my inclinations, I should never forgive myself, nor do I 
believe that I should prosper, in this world or the next.” 

“ You are right, Davy. We must do nothing to wound 
or horrify the old lady. But there is such a thing as 
putting the proposal before her in such a light that she 
would see the advisability of it for herself. You must let 
me tackle her. I am considered to be quite a mash among 
the old ladies. I believe that is the reason that the young 
ones fight so shy of me. I guarantee, that if anyone can 
bring your mother to reason, I will.” 

You are very good, my dear George,” said Parson Jones, 
with a wintry smile, “ but I think if my mother will not 
yield to my entreaties, she will remain obdurate to those of 
anyone. But it is too soon to discuss the matter now. I 
can decide on nothing till I see Ernest Solun again. But 
the knowledge that he wants me, and that there is a place 
open to me, if I conclude to accept it, has made me very 
happy.” 

“You will end by accepting it,” cried George Bates, “ I 
am an excellent prophet, and I foresee it plainly. And 
after a while, if all goes well, I will take a holiday and go 
out to pay you a visit. I have always longed to see New 
Zealand — without exception, the most beautiful country on 
the face of the earth. And fancy how the little ones will 
thrive on New Zealand mutton and peaches. With your love 
of horticulture, Davy, I should not wonder if you became a 
power in the land. I have heard of several cases lately of 
men going out there, simply to cultivate peach orchards for 
trade. You will be a regular ‘ boss’ before you have been 
there long.” 

“ It sounds too good to be true,” replied the parson, 
‘‘and if it were not for my poor old mother ” 


28 o 


PARSON JONES. 


He stopped there, with a gentle sigh, which made George 
Bates resolve that, by hook or crook, he would win the old 
lady over to her son’s way of thinking, if he died for it. 

“ But let us dismiss the subject for the present,” said 
David Jones, as he rose from the table, ‘‘ and tell me your 
plans and my duties for to-day.” 

“ My plans, dear fellow, are the same as usual — a door to 
door visitation among my unfortunate parishioners, and 
your duty is to rest yourself, and get an appetite for 
dinner.” 

“ No, George, nothing of the sort. I should be miserable 
if you left me here alone. When does Mr. Neville start for 
Llanty-gollen ? ” 

“ Oh, he has already gone. I told him he had better have 
his breakfast comfortably before he went, and that the 
eleven o’clock train would land him in Llanty-gollen quite 
soon enough to make his preparations for to-morrow. But 
the Reverend Jack is nothing if not miserable. He chose 
to set off by seven o’clock instead, insisting that a piece of 
dry bread would be all sufficient for his breakfast ; and I 
am very much afraid that Nelson took him at his word, for, 
if she can ever torture that young man, she does. How- 
ever, he is gone, empty or otherwise. Let us hope he may 
have the sense to get a glass of beer on the way.” 

“ He is very young,” said the parson, “ and too much zeal 
is better than too little. Time will cure him of his non- 
sense.” 

“ Humph ! ” quoth George incredulously, “it is more 
likely in my opinion to land him in the Roman Catholic 
Church. He is not a Protestant. He howls if you suggest 
such a thing. All his ideas and inclinations tend toward 
Catholicism. If he had the pluck to go over, I should not 
blame him. He is one of those men who will never be 
able to think for themselves, so he would be ever so much 


PARSON JONES. 


281 


safer under an authorized director. But he doesn’t know 
what he wants yet. He is just a baby, and no more fit for 
ordination than my housekeeper. But he passed, you see, 
and there he is. Halloo ! ” exclaimed the vicar, as he glanced 
at the morning paper, “ here is the incumbent of Solney- 
cum-Mereton suspended for refusing to administer the 
communion in both kinds to his congregation. Serves him 
right, too. What business has a man with such opinions to 
be in the English Church ? And here’s an Evangelical par- 
son had up for embezzling money on pretense of collecting 
it for charity. My dear Davy, we are nothing but men, 
and very common sort of men, after all.” 

“ The mistake is for people to believe us otherwise,” re- 
plied his friend, “ but some do. They seem to suppose 
that the ordination service has the power to turn us from 
ordinary mortals into a species of angel. Whereas, there is 
no difference between us and any layman who fears God. 
That is the only thing that counts, George, the man who 
loves God and the man who does not.” 

“Your quite right, old chum,” said Mr. Bates. “But 
now, if you really wish to accompany me on my rounds, 
let us be going.” 

It is unnecessary to accompany the two men on their 
parochial visits in Whitechapel. They opened David Jones’ 
eyes to a great deal of misery and sin, of which he had 
hardly dreamt before. His old men and women at Llanty- 
gollen were stupid, pig-headed, and ungrateful ; but there 
was no bad language, or drunkenness, or blasphemy to be 
heard or seen there. These terrible men, who cursed their 
vicar to his face, and these still more terrible women, who 
appeared before them intoxicated and half clothed., and 
shrieked with hideous delight at the look of repugnance 
mingled with compassion in their faces — could they belong 
to the same scale of creation as bi§ wife, and Verena, and 


282 


FA/? SON JONES. 


himself ? The wretched children, too, born of drunken 
parents, and reared in an atmosphere of vice and starvation 
— hanging their feeble, heavy heads over their vicious and 
often cruel mothers’ shoulders, had they come into the world 
like his own darlings, fresh and innocent from the hand of 
God, made in his image and destined for his service ? It 
made him shudder and sicken, almost like a woman, to be- 
hold these wretched creatures, filthy in mind and body, 
turning every good word they said to them into ridicule, 
and almost hooting them from their doors, when at last they 
turned away. 

“ George ! ” he said, “ I had no idea it was so bad as this. 
What a life you must lead among them ! It is enough to 
break down the bravest man.” 

“ It hasn’t broken me down yet, Davy, as you see ; on the 
contrary, they interest me, and I should not like to give up 
the charge of them to anyone else. I acknowledge they 
are revolting in speech and manner. Indeed, you have 
not seen the worst of them. Sometimes they throw dead 
cats and brickbats after me, and insult me in the grossest 
manner. But I have done a little good among them, and 
my hope is that, by perseverance in showing them kindness, 
I may win their hearts at last, and their respect will follow 
suit. You cannot think how a smile of gratitude, or a kind 
word, rewards you in such a parish as this. Once a woman, 
whose infant I had been able to save in whooping-cough, 
saw a man about to throw a hammer at me ; and, rushing 
forward, poor creature, with the intention of wresting it 
from his hand, received it full in her eye. Dear me, that 
was an eye ! The doctor thought at first that she would 
lose her sight, but, thank God, she didn’t. It was a long 
business, though, during which I used to visit her and take 
her little comforts in the hospital ; and, when she came out 
again, I found I had won over the man as well, and had two 


PARSON JONES. 


283 

friends instead of one. A good simple set of people like 
yours would not interest me after my Whitechapel folk. 
They would seem like eating bread and butter after caviare. 
Leave me to my caviare, Davy, and don’t pity me ! I have 
acquired a taste for strong flavors, you see, and my tongue 
has lost her discrimination.” 

“You are in your right place, George, there is no doubt 
of that,” said the parson, “ and I would be the last person 
to try and persuade you to give up so glorious a work. But 
their language is really appalling. I have miners up my 
way, and I used to think they were the hardest swearers I 
had ever heard, but your friends beat them all to fits.” 

“ They take the cake, decidedly,” replied the Reverend 
George, laughing, “ but the terrible thing is to hear the 
girls. You know I am not much of a woman-lover, Davy, 
but I could cry like a baby sometimes to hear the young 
girls, some of them so pretty and delicate looking, using 
the most filthy language you ever heard in your life. Not 
that it is so wrong in them as in others, poor young things, 
for they have heard nothing else since their births, and 
know no better. But it is very shocking to hear girls in a 
Christian land swearing and blaspheming in a manner that 
no savage nation would stand.” 

“ And yet the good people of England, who would dis- 
miss any servant who used such language in their hearing, 
will send their money out by thousands of pounds to con- 
vert the heathen abroad, who have not nearly so much need 
of conversion as the heathen at home. It is incredible ! It 
has been pointed out to them scores of times, yet it still 
goes on.” 

“ True ! and for a very good human reason. They are 
not brought in contact with the heathen abroad. They can 
mourn over their fancied iniquities and spend their money 
for other people to take the trouble of converting them to 


PARSOU JONES. 


2 §4 

a sense of their errors off their hands. But Whitechapel 
is too near. If they once evinced an interest in the worse 
than heathen here, they might be asked to go among them 
themselves ; and what lady, or indeed, gentleman, for the 
matter of that, would do so ? They would be afraid of con- 
tamination. If you asked them seriously if they believe 
that the Saviour died for these poor creatures as well as for 
themselves, they will answer ‘ yes but all the same they do 
not expect to be relegated to the same place when they go 
up above. Fancy a West-end beauty finding herself in 
Heaven next a Whitechapel one ! Why, she would faint at 
the mere idea ! The notion of the ‘many mansions’ must 
be a very comforting one to the Upper Ten who cor>fidently 
trust they may be kept separate from the hoi polloi in the 
other world.” 

The two friends had had several such walks and talks as 
these before Parson Jones asked George Bates if he could 
spare him an afternoon to call upon some acquaintances of 
his. 

“ My dear boy, of course — a dozen afternoons if you want 
them,” replied George, in his hearty manner. “ Who are 
your friends ? Where do they hang out ? Would you like 
the brougham to take you there ? ” 

“ Oh, no, indeed ! I can find my way by train, thank you, 
George. I have not been quite correct in calling the gen- 
tleman my friend, or, indeed, even my acquaintance, as I 
have never met him yet ; but I know some relations of his, 
and I wish to see him on business connected with them.” 

“ Who is he ? ” repeated George. 

“ His name is Shaw, and he lives in Queen’s Gate, but I 
do not know the number.” 

“ The directory will soon tell us that,” said George, pull- 
ing it down and running over the leaves. “ Let me see — y 
is it Albert Shaw, 999 Queen’s Gate, S. W. ? ” 


Parson jones. 285 

“ Yes ! that is the name,” replied the parson with a little 
confusion. 

“ Why, he is one of the great shipping firm of Shaw, 
Hubble & Painter ; about as wealthy a man, I suppose, as 
can well be. But are you sure he is in town, Davy ? It is 
rather unlikely, you know, at this time of the year. He is 
bound to be yachting, or shooting, or hunting, or passing 
the autumn abroad. These big-wigs know better than to 
spend the dull weather amid the fogs of London.” 

The parson’s face fell. 

“ I am so unused to London ways that I had not thought 
of that,” he said. “ What shall I do ? I wish especially to 
have an interview with this gentleman while I am in town, 
as I am entrusted with a private message to him that I can- 
not write.” 

“ I should make the attempt, if I were you, Davy; and, if 
you are unsuccessful in seeing Mr. Shaw you can at least 
ascertain where he is, and his present address.” 

“ You are right, George. I will go to Queen’s Gate this 
afternoon.” 

He had been longing, ever since he had set his foot in 
London, to be able to do something for the girl whose 
image filled his heart, and far more of his thoughts than he 
liked her to do. If he could interest her father on her 
behalf, and enlist his powerful influence to bring Mr. Her- 
bert Bryanstone to book, he should have done something, 
he thought, to put her further away from himself. He was 
pondering on this theme all the way to Queen’s Gate ; and, 
notwithstanding his friend’s warning, was much disap- 
pointed, on arriving there, to find the great house closed, 
and its windows plastered with newspapers. A woman left 
in charge, who opened the door, could give him no informa- 
tion respecting the owner’s address. It was Mr. Shaw’s 
house, she said, true enough: but he was in the country 


286 PARSON- JONES. 

somewhere, and all his letters were forwarded through the 
postoffice, she supposed, as none came to the house. And 
she didn’t know when the gentleman would be at home, 
either — not for a long time, she fancied, because the 
servants always came back at least a month before the 
master. So David Jones had to find his way back to 
Whitechapel no wiser than when he left it. However, he 
did not sleep that night without sending a note to Mr. 
Shaw’s town address, in hopes the postal authorities would 
forward it. He wrote very briefly, and he did not mention 
Verena’s name, judging, and correctly, that it would not 
prove an “ open sesame ” to her father’s doors. He 
merely asked him for an interview at his convenience, as 
he had something of importance to communicate to him. 
In the course of a few days he received the following 
answer : 

“Sir: Parsons are not much in my line, and I cannot 
imagine what you can have to say to me of any importance. 
If you are coming to beg, you can save yourself the trouble, 
as I never give away to promiscuous charities. If your 
business relates to anything else, however, I shall be in 
town next week at the Victoria Hotel, where I can see you 
any day between one and three o’clock. But no begging 
cards, remember. 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“Albert Shaw.” 

Parson Jones heaved a deep sigh, half of pain and halt 
of relief, as he perused this not very encouraging epistle. 
He had gained his point so far, however. He should see 
Verena’s father and be able to introduce her name, to 
plead for his interest in her, for his powerful protection in 
this crisis of her fate. How could any father, who heard 


PARSON JONES. 


287 


how sweet and fair she was, not be smitten with remorse for 
his indifference toward her, not be fired with curiosity to 
see the peerless creature he had begotten, and to make 
amends for his previous neglect ? The parson, viewing 
Verena by the light of his own love, believed that he had 
but to open his mouth in her praise to cause her hard- 
hearted father to tear his gray hair with remorse and shame. 
He told his friend that he had been promised an interview 
only, but in his simple heart he was pondering all the rest 
of the week what he should say, what words he should use, 
and what arguments employ to paint Verena’s beauty, and 
grace, and pitiable position sufficiently clear to engage her 
father’s consideration. When the day came to pay his visit 
to the Victoria Hotel he was as nervous as a boy going to 
ask a parent’s permission to pay his addresses to his 
daughter ; and could Verena have seen what it cost the par- 
son to carry out her wishes, she might have been able to 
estimate the amount of his love for her. He had been most 
particular to present himself exactly at the appointed hour, 
and this time he was successful. Mr. Shaw was in the hotel 
and Parson Jones was at once shown up into a magnifi- 
cently furnished private sitting room, which spoke for itself as 
to the means of its occupier. Mr. Albert Shaw was seated 
in an armchair close to the fire as he entered, and gazed 
up at him inquisitively from under a pair of shaggy gray 
eyebrows. He was a short, broad-set man, with no beauty 
of feature, and the parson felt a doubt at first sight as to 
whether he had not made a mistake after all. Surely this 
could never be Verena’s father ! this common-place looking 
surly man, who merely nodded his head as his visitor 
entered, and motioned him to be seated. 

“ I presume I have the honor of addressing Mr. Shaw,” 
commenced the parson. 

“That’s my name,” said the other. “And now, sir. 


288 


PARSON JONES. 


what is it that you want to say to me ? I am a man of 
few words, and I am very busy ; so perhaps you will be 
good enough to make your communication as brief as 
possible.” 

“ I will, Mr. Shaw,” replied Parson Jones, who was clear- 
ing his throat the while, and shaking all over like an aspen 
leaf, “ but the subject I have come to speak to you upon is 
a very serious one, and therefore I hope you will be patient, 
and allow me a little time to put it before you as plainly as 
I can.” 

“ No rubbish about my soul now, Mr. Parson, if you 
please,” growled the great Mr. Shaw. “ I’ve heard every- 
thing that is to be said on that subject, and I tell you can- 
didly it doesn’t interest me.” 

“ I can quite understand that, sir. I am not sure that it 
would interest me either. The subject I am here to speak 
to you upon is a far more pleasant one — your daughter, 
Verena.” 

The murder was out now, and Parsonjones waited to see 
what effect it would have upon his hearer. At first Mr. 
Shaw seemed as if he did not believe his ears, but after a 
moment he closed his lips firmly and said : “ Well, sir, and 
what may you have to say to me about that young lady ? 
Stay, though, tell me first what right you have to mention 
the subject to me, and on whose authority do you 
come ? ” 

“ On the authority, Mr. Shaw, of the God who gave your 
daughter to you to watch over and cherish, and by the 
right every man possesses to advocate the cause of a girl 
who requires her father’s protection.” 

“You are somewhat bold, Mr. Parson,” said the old man. 
“What is your place of residence, and how do you happen 
to know my daughter ?” 

“I am the incumbent of Llanty-gollen in Wales, Mr. 


PARSON JONES. 289 

Shaw, and I have become acquainted with Miss Shaw at 
the house of her uncle, Captain Jefferson.” 

“ And if there is any necessity that I should be worried 
with details coucerning my daughter (who has everything 
as far as I know that she can require), why does not 
Captain Jefferson inform me of them himself, instead of 
sending a stranger to do so ? ” 

“ I did not come by the captain’s request, sir, not even 
with his knowledge, or with that of your daughter. I have 
asked for this interview with you solely on my own re- 
sponsibility.” 

“ Then I consider you have taken a d d liberty, sir, 

and the sooner you get out of my presence the better. I 
am perfectly aware of everything that concerns Miss Shaw, 
and I have no wish to hear any more. So be good enough 
to walk out at that door.” 

And Mr. Shaw indicated the direction he wished the par- 
son to take, by a wave of his hand. But a strange, new- 
born courage seemed to have taken possession of David 
Jones’ soul. He had gone so far now, that he felt he 
could do Verena no further harm by saying all that was in 
his mind concerning her; and he might, by God’s grace, do 
her good. So, instead of slinking away, as the old man 
evidently intended and expected that he would do, he drew 
his chair closer to his, and said in his winning manner : 

“ Don't think me impertinent, sir. It is the last thing that 
I wish to be, I can assure you. I have asked for this inter- 
view solely in your daughter’s cause. She is in some per- 
plexity just now, and feels the want of her father’s advice. 
If I had not known that for a certainty, I should not have 
intruded my presence on you.” 

He had gained one point. The old man ceased to vitupe- 
rate, and appeared somewhat interested. He also conde- 
scended to argue. 


290 


PARSON JONES. 


“ If you are acquainted with my daughter, sir,” he 
answered, “you must know that she is under the guardian- 
ship of her uncle, Captain Jefferson; and, if she is in any 
uncertainty how to act, he is the proper person for her to 
consult. I allow Miss Shaw a liberal sum yearly for her 
maintenance, and I do not expect to be further troubled 
with her affairs. In fact I decline to interfere with them, 
as we should not be likely to agree in the matter.” 

“ Oh, sir, you do her a wrong — indeed, you cannot know 
what you are speaking of. Verena — I mean Miss Shaw — 
is a very lonely, sensitive, and loving girl, whose heart 
would but too gladly turn to any affection yours might 
show her. She lives under her uncle’s protection, it is true, 
and he is very fond of her; but she does not get on well 
with his wife, who is an imperious, selfish, and cold-hearted 
woman, and makes your daughter miserable, as she would 
do any sensitive young woman.” 

“Well, sir, and what is the upshot of this long tirade 
about my daughter’s feelings ? Do you propose to rescue 
her from this den of lions ? Have you come here with the 
object of securing my consent to paying her your addresses? 
Do you wish to marry Miss Shaw ? ” 

The parson colored deeply. 

“ Mr. Shaw,” he replied, with an air of dignity that 
rather impressed the older man, “ I have a wife, and sons 
and daughters of my own. If you imagine for a moment, 
that I have sought your presence from any but the most 
disinterested motives, you wrong me deeply.” 

“ Very well, sir, very well, I retract my words. And now 
please to explain your business with me, without any more 
beating about the bush.” 

“ My mission is soon told, Mr. Shaw, and thank you for 
allowing me to tell it. It is in strict confidence, remember, 
that I speak to you; and I must have your promise first 


PARSON JONES. 291 

that you will not repeat my communication, even to Cap- 
tain Jefferson.” 

“ You have it, sir, I am not likely to take sufficient inter- 
est in what you may have to tell me to care to repeat, or 
even think of it again.” 

“ You would not say that if you knew your daughter 
Verena, Mr. Shaw; for she is one of whom any father might 
be proud, not only on account of her personal appearance, 
but of the treasures of her mind, which is far above that 
of the ordinary young woman.” 

“ And how have you managed to find that out ?” 

“ I am the clergyman in charge of the parish she lives 
in, as I have already told you, sir. Some months ago, 
when your daughter first came to live at Heddlewick Manor, 
Mrs. Jefferson drew my attention to the state of melan- 
choly she was in, and asked me to try and find out the 
cause. She attributed it, as I did, to some religious doubts 
or fancies; and it was not until I had gained Miss Shaw’s 
friendship and confidence, that she told me the reason of 
her low spirits.” 

“ Very interesting, upon my word,” snarled Mr. Shaw. 
“ Pray go on, Mr. Parson, I am burning with curiosity to 
learn the end of this.” 

“ Oh, sir, do not sneer in that heartless manner,” cried 
David Jones earnestly, “ or you may live to bitterly regret 
it. What has this fair creature (whom half the world would 
barter their all to claim relationship with) done, that you 
can be wicked enough to sneer at the recital of her pain ? 
I tell you she is suffering and you smile. It is the act of a 
devil, sir, and not that of a man. I should be ashamed to 
be as pitiless over the suffering of an animal, as you 
appear to be over the misfortune of your own child. For 
shame, Mr. Shaw, for shame ! Take care lest the Lord 
does not desert you in your need, as you seem dis- 


292 


PARSON JONES. 


posed to desert your innocent and unoffending child. 
Your time of reckoning cannot be far off. You must be 
nigh on seventy. What if God metes justice and mercy 
out to yon, as you have meted them out to others ? Have 
a care, sir. ‘ As a man soweth, so shall he reap,’ and your 
harvest promises to be a bitter one.” 

Mr. Shaw covered his face for a few moments with his 
hands, and then, rising from his chair, began to pace the 
room rapidly to and fro. 

‘‘You are no fair judge of my feelings in this matter, 
Mr. Jones,” he said presently; “you know none of the 
circumstances of the case.” 

“ I know that whatever they may be, your daughter is 
innocent of any greater offense than that of being your 
daughter, Mr. Shaw, and that it is worse than unreasonable 
to visit your private grudges on her head.” 

“ She is her mother’s child, not mine,” murmured the 
other. 

“ Then her mother must have been one of the most 
charming and lovable of women,” said the parson. 

“ She was, she was, or she seemed to be so. And I loved 
her, Mr. Jones, so dearly, so passionately, so trustfully, 
that when I found she had deceived me, everything in the 
world was gone from me at one blow.” 

“ Deceived you ? impossible !” exclaimed Parson Jones. 
“ From what your daughter has told me of her dead mother 
I feel sure she never did that. You must have deceived 
yourself, sir.” 

“ She did deceive me, though not in the way you mean. 
She was all the world to me, and, when I married her I 
thought she loved me for myself alone, as I did her. But, 
shortly after my daughter’s birth, an old lover of my wife’s 
cropped up ; and I discovered to my despair that she had 
parted from him for some foolish misunderstanding, and 


PARSON JONES. 


293 


married me out of sheer pique. I could not stand the blow 
to my pride. I am a very proud man, and perhaps an 
unforgiving one. But it was impossible for me to live with 
her ^fter that discovery. I could not retain the casket 
when the jewel was gone. What good was an empty casket 
to me ? So I settled a handsome allowance on her, and I 
left her to her own devices. As for the child, I left that, 
too. Why should I have kept her, to grow fond of her, 
perhaps, as I had done of the mother, only to find I had 
been deceiving myself at last. Besides she would have 
been a constant reminder to me of my wife, so I was glad 
to lose sight of her and try to forget that she existed. I 
have not seen her since that day ; I have tried not to think 
of her, and now you come here to remind me of the bitterest 
disappointment of my life. I do not thank you, Mr. Jones.” 

“ I think you will live to thank me, Mr. Shaw,” replied the 
parson, who was growing bolder and bolder as he perceived 
the evident impression he had made on his hearer. “I 
think if you were to argue with yourself on the terrible 
injustice you are doing your sweet young daughter, and the 
happiness of which you are depriving yourself, that you 
would send for her at once, and try your utmost to make 
up for your cruel neglect of the past. Why, sir, do you 
know what she is like ? Do you know that she is one of 
the loveliest girls that you have ever seen ? that most men 
would be so proud of her person and her mind, that the 
difficulty would be, not to keep her beside them, but ever 
to make up their minds to part with her when the time 
came.” 

“ Aye, aye, you are right, Mr. Parson, she’ll be married 
soon ; there are always fools enough and to spare, and then 
I shall hear no more of her. Why should I trouble myself 
about her now at this late hour? Besides, I have formed 
other ties in place of her. I have friends who are dearer to 


294 


PARSON JONES, 


me, as they have been kinder, than my own flesh and blood. 
Let us drop the subject of my daughter, please. I have 
heard enough. She and I will never be more to each other 
than we are now." « 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Shaw, but I cannot drop it, for my 
mission is not effected. You said just now that Miss Shaw 
is sure to marry soon and relieve you of the little respon. 
sibility you have assumed respecting her. But you are mis- 
taken. She might marry, doubtless, for she is too lovely 
for the majority of men to feel the same indifference toward 
her that her father does. But I do not think she will unless 
you help her." 

“ Help her," repeated the old man ; “ what do you mean, 
sir ? Do you recommend me to go out into the streets and 
find a husband for my daughter?" 

“ No, you know well I do not. But Miss Shaw has 
reposed a confidence in me, which I would violate to no 
one but you — her father. The cause of her melancholy is 
not, as I first believed, attributable to her poor mother’s 
death, though she has felt that keenly, but to the unaccount- 
able and, I am afraid, base behavior of a young man to 
whom she became engaged while in Cheltenham. He has 
left her, it appears, without any cause and without any 
explanation. She loves him ardently," continued the par- 
son with an effort, “ and his conduct has gone well nigh to 
break her heart. Her health has given way under the 
strain, and her faith in God and heaven have suffered from 
it also. It is so hard for a young creature to believe in the 
goodness of her Creator when she finds herself deserted 
and alone. An explanation with this man is all that 
Verena asks, and she is entitled to it — to know for certain 
why he left her without a word of explanation, after having 
asked her hand in marriage and received the consent of her 
mother. It is cruel on the poor girl, almost a child in 


PARSON JONES, 


295 


experience and knowledge of the world, and threatens to 
have a most baneful effect on her future life. I have 
promised her to do my utmost to find out this young man 
and seek an explanation from him, and it is in the pursuit 
of that promise that I have come to you to day, Mr. Shaw — 
to ask you, as her father, to take this duty on yourself, to 
see your daughter righted, or to bring the man who has so 
cruelly deserted her to book. You say you have pride. 
Let your pride urge you not to put up with an affront to 
your family name. If you refuse, I shall still do my best, 
but it is your duty and not mine.” 

Mr. Shaw stopped short in his restless pacings, and 
asked : 

“ What is the name of the man, and where does he live ? ” 

“ His address I cannot give you. Your daughter, even, 
does not know it, as she says he had no settled home, and 
was always wandering about, but his name is Herbert 
Bryanstone.” 

The old man wheeled suddenly round as if he had been 
shot, and confronted his visitor. “ What ? ” he almost 
shouted, “ Herbert Bryanstone ! It is not true, sir ! You 
have been deceived.” 

“ That I am sure I have not been, Mr. Shaw ; but why 
should you think so ? Do you know the gentleman ?” 

“ Certainly not,” replied his companion, confusedly, 
but I have heard of the family — it is a well-known one, and 
no member of it would behave in the rascally manner you 
describe.” 

“ That is no proof of the fallacy of my story, which I know 
to be unmitigatedly true. Your daughter is not a girl who 
would tell a lie. She is as honest as the day ; besides there 
was no good to be gained by deceiving me. She showed 
me the young man’s photograph, also.” 

“What was he like ? ” said Mr. Shaw, in an excited man- 


296 PARSON JONES, 

ner, as he came close to Parson Jones, and grasped his 
arm. 

“Tall, slight, and good-looking,” replied David 
Jones ; “ fair hair and blue eyes, clean shaven, except for 
a small mustache, and dressed in the height of the 
fashion.” 

Mr. Shaw gazed in his face eagerly, as he gave him 
the description ; and then, dropping the arm he held, recom- 
menced his rapid pacing up and down the room. 

“ If you know anything of this young man’s family, sir,” 
went on David Jones, “ I beg of you to institute some in- 
quiries on the subject. Find out, at least, if Mr. Herbert 
Bryanstone was at Cheltenham at the time mentioned by 
Miss Shaw, and you will have gained one clew to the truth. 
Stay ! though, now I remember it, your daughter told me 
that her mother did not retain the name of Shaw during 
your separation from her — that she called herself and 
her daughter by her maiden name of Travers, so that Mr. 
‘Bryanstone knew them by that name only until he had 
proposed to Verena, when her mother informed him of her 
real title. This fact may help you in your search. You 
will undertake it, sir, will you not, for your child’s sake ? 
Why should she suffer on account of her mother’s dif- 
ferences with yourself? If you would only see her, if 
I could persuade you to run down to Llanty-gollen for 
a few days and have an interview with your innocent 
child, how sure I am that your heart would melt, first 
with pity for her orphaned condition, and next, with grati- 
tude that you had such a treasure left to solace your old 
age.” 

“You area very enthusiastic pleader, Mr. Jones, and I 
do not say that I am sorry you have been brave enough 
to place my daughter’s case before me. But I cannot de- 
cide in a hurry. It is not my way. Leave me now, if 


PARSON JONES. 


297 


you please, that I may think over what you have said. I 
have your present address, I believe, on your card. If I 
decide on taking any steps in the matter, I will let you 
know. But for the present, I would rather be alone. ” 

“ I will obey your wishes, but you must let me thank you 
first for the long interview you have conceded me, and for 
the hope, however slight, which 5'-ou have raised in my 
breast, on behalf of my young friend. But I will not leave 
you alone, Mr. Shaw ! You must let this keep you com- 
pany.” As the parson spoke, he placed before his host a 
photograph of Verena which he had stolen from Selina’s 
album in hope he might have the opportunity to show it to 
her father. 

Mr. Shaw gazed at the sweet girlish face for a moment 
in silence, and then, as though afraid of betraying his 
emotion at the sight, he exclaimed hastily: “ Go ! go ! I 
implore you ! ” and turned his back upon his visitor. 

Parson Jones left the hotel with a cheek flushed with vic- 
tory, and a heart beating high with hope. No selfish 
thoughts intruded themselves at that moment on his 
gratification at .the success of his interview. All he thought 
was that Verena had gained a father, and through his 
means. For he felt sure that whether her earthly passion 
was gratified or not, she would find a great and lasting con- 
solation in a parent’s love. And David Jones believed that 
he could not have been mistaken in the look he read on the 
old man’s face, as he gazed on the picture of his child — 
the child from whom he had been separated so early and 
for so long that he must have almost forgotten what his 
feelings for her were. So he returned to Whitechapel 
triumphant, and without giving a thought to the extra 
misery Verena’s happiness must mean to himself. Mean- 
while Mr. Shaw, having ascertained that the parson was 
actually off the premises, sat down to his writing desk and 


298 


PARSON JONES. 


transcribed the following telegram, which he ordered to be 
immediately dispatched to its destination : 

Bryanstone, Smedley Hall, Yorkshire : 

“ Come to town by next train. Important business. 

‘‘ Shaw. 


XVIII. 

When Mr. Herbert Bryanstone received this telegram, it 
seemed to him to come at a very inopportune moment. He 
had been left by Mr. Shaw to fill his place at Smedley Hall 
and to do the honors to some half a dozen men who had 
been invited down for the shooting season. It seemed 
most unreasonable, therefore, that he should be called away 
at a moment’s notice. He wired back : “ What am I to do 
about the fellows here ? Won’t it seem awfully rude to 
leave them alone ? ” The answer he received was : “ Shall 
not keep you beyond a few hours. Ask Lawley to take your 
place for that time and use the house as his own.” 

So Herbert Bryanstone had nothing to do but comply with 
his god-father’s request. He owed a great deal to him. 
There were reasons why he should treat him with almost 
more than the deference of a son. Herbert Bryanstone’s 
mother had been a distant cousin of Mr. Shaw. She had 
also been his first love, and though first loves are often 
(indeed generally) succeeded by better and more enduring 
ones, they leave an impression, just because they were the 
first, that is not easily effaced. Mr. Shaw had never for- 
gotten the pain he had experienced on parting with Jessy 
Telbin ; and when he was disappointed in the passionate 
devotion he felt for his wife, his thoughts flew back to the 
little cousin who had once been all the world to him, and 
he wondered if she would have been truer, and if the elders 
who opposed their early marriage had been wise in their 


PARSON JONES. 


299 


generation. Jessy had married too, long before this time, 
and had a son five years older than Albert Shaw’s despised 
little daughter Verena. He found her in sore trouble — 
not only a widow and in poverty-stricken circumstances, 
but slowly dying of a malignant cancer. He made her last 
years comfortable, and when she died he took the charge 
of young Bryanstone upon himself and reared him from that 
time as his own son. This was the secret of Herbert 
Bryanstone’s almost strained duty toward his god-father. 
He owed everything he possessed to his bounty and all his 
expectations for the future came from him. Mr. Shaw had 
refused to let him enter any profession. He declared that 
for the short time he had to live he wanted to keep the 
young man all to himself, and that when he died he should 
leave him everything he possessed. The position was 
a galling one to young Bryanstone, but he had no means of 
altering it, and felt he owed his god-father a large debt of 
gratitude for his generosity. Mr. Shaw made him a liberal 
allowance, indeed he had everything he wanted — except 
one. All who knew him had seen a marked difference in 
Herbert Bryanstone of late. He had been one of those 
fair-haired, blue-eyed youths who are full of fun and laugh- 
ter, always up to some mischief or other, and keeping 
the place alive with their light-heartedness. But he was 
changed. Whether it was the responsibility of age coming 
on him, or that he had experienced some secret disappoint- 
ment, Mr. Shaw could not determine, but he was certainly 
not so lively, nor did he smile so often as he had been 
used to do. Yet Herbert would not allow that he felt any 
different, and when questioned attributed his dullness to the 
weather, or the state of his liver, or to anything but its 
true cause. Mr. Shaw had redoubled his goodness to him, 
for he really loved the young man — had even gone the 
length of offering to part with him for a season so that he 
should travel abroad and take a complete change. But this 


300 


PARSON JONES. 


was a sacrifice that young Bryanston would not hear of his 
god-father making for his sake. He refused it with ap- 
parent scorn for its necessity, and redoubled his efforts to 
look gay. So the last year had passed with them, not so hap- 
pily as former ones, but still without any suspicions on the 
old man’s part that the young one was breaking his heart 
from a sense of duty to himself. As soon as Herbert 
Bryanstone received the final wire from London, he went to 
Lord William Lawley, who was their chief guest, and com- 
municating his god-father’s wishes to him, asked him as 
a favor to do the honors of Smedley Hall during his una- 
voidable absence. Lord William complied with alacrity, 
only adding a rider that his friend would not be persuaded 
to stay away more than the stipulated time, as the party 
would miss him sadly. 

“Not more than I shall you, old fellow,” was the answer. 
“ I can’t imagine what my old dad can want with me — what 
indeed can keep him up in town at this season of the year ? 
I don’t suppose he can see a yard before his face from fog. 
Ugh ! I hate it ! I shall get out of it as fast as I can, you 
may take your oath of that.” 

He traveled up from Yorkshire as expeditiously as possi- 
ble and presented himself at the Victoria Hotel on the day 
following Parson Jones’ visit there. He entered the room 
heartily and was about to greet his godfather with the same 
affection as usual, but observed that Mr. Shaw drew back 
a little as though to avoid the expression of any familiarity. 

“ What is the matter, dad ? ” asked the young man, for 
such was the title by which Mr. Shaw always liked him to 
call him. “ Nothing wrong with business, I hope. Your 
wire puzzled me. I was afraid at first that you were ill, but, 
thank God, it is not that. I had a rush to get away so soon, 
I can tell you, for we were out duck-shooting all day yester- 


PA SON' JONES. 


301 


day and did not get back till eight o’clock. I shouldn’t 
have received your message till night if James had not had 
the thought to send it after me by one of the stable helpers. 
What is it, dad ? nothing serious ? ” 

Something which I consider very serious, Bertie, or I 
should not have wired for you,” replied Mr. Shaw gravely. 

‘‘ Dad ! you frighten me,” said Bertie, as he drew nearer 
and laid his hand on the other’s arm, but Mr. Shaw shook 
off the kindly touch as if it stung him. 

“ Oh, don’t do that, sir,” cried the young man in an 
accent of pain ; “ if I have been so unfortunate as to vex 
you, let me know what it is at once, but don’t repulse my 
affection for you, which is entirely sincere.” 

“Is it sincere, Bertie ? are you perfectly sincere with me, 
that is what my heart is doubting at this moment — that is 
what would be worse news to me than the loss of all my 
fortune.” 

“ Dismiss the idea from your mind, dad, at once,” ex- 
claimed young Bryanstone, “ for it is a dishonor to yourself 
and to me. I have never been untrue to you. Who can 
have been defaming me to you behind my back ?” 

“ No one has defamed you ; but certain circumstances 
have come to my knowledge which have grieved me deeply, 
and placed your conduct in a light of which I did not think 
it was capable.” 

Herbert Bryanstone grew rather pale during this exor- 
dium, but he bit his lip and restrained the words that were 
on his tongue. 

“ Go on, sir ! ” he said briefly. 

“ As soon as you were old enough to understand me, 
Bertie,” continued Mr. Shaw, “ I told you somewhat, though 
not all, of my family history, and how bitterly I had suffered 
through being deceived. You were such a little lad at the 
time that I took you on my knee and asked you to promise 


302 


PARSON JONES. 


never to keep back anything that you might do, or wish to 
do, from me, but to trust me always to promote your hap- 
piness in every possible way, and if I was obliged to deny 
your request, that I would make up for it by something 
else. Do you remember ? ” 

“ I remember perfectly, sir. I remember also that I have 
never failed (so far as I know) to keep my childish promise 
to you.” 

“Oh, don’t say that, Bertie ! don’t say that !” replied 
Mr. Shaw quickly ; “ be true to me and to yourself now, 
whatever you may have been in the past. What did you do 
when you were staying at Cheltenham last year ? Engage 
yourself to marry a girl without asking my consent, and then 
desert her in the basest manner — leave her without a word 
of explanation — behave like a blackguard to a young lady 
of birth and position — sneak away and leave her in the 
lurch, to break her heart over a worthless man perhaps, or 
to be a standing jest to her companions. Do you call that 
keeping your plighted word to me, sir ? — do yon call that 
behaving like an honorable man and a gentleman ? ” 

The young fellow turned all colors, from while to red, 
and red to white, before he summoned up courage to 
answer his questioner. At last he said : 

“ I suppose I must tell you the truth now, dad, though I 
am afraid I shall find it difficult to convince you that what 
I did, I did for the best, and to try and save you pain. Oh, 
if you knew how I have suffered under it — how I have 
longed sometimes that I had the courage to take my life, 
and might have done so, only for the extra grief to you. 
Dad ! be patient with me if I am obliged to wound you as 
I make my confession. You will be able to judge from 
that why I have kept the truth to myself so long.” 

“ I am listening, Bertie.” 

“ I was at Cheltenham, as you know, for several months 


PARSON JONES. 


303 


together, while you were at Aix-les-bains and Paris last 
year, and there I met the girl you speak of — the loveliest, 
dearest girl I have ever met or shall ever meet — and we 
fell in love with each other, dad — madly in love. I sup- 
pose you will laugh at me for saying so — I know old people 
do laugh at young ones and call them fools. But why should 
they do so ? They were once young themselves, and must 
remember what it is to have their hot blood coursing through 
their veins like a torrent of fire, and the dull aching pain 
that follows when it is turned back in its course.” 

“ But what obstacle was there to this love of yours ? ” 
demanded Mr. Shaw. “ Why did you not confide your 
hopes and wishes to me ? Have I been such a hard task- 
master that you were afraid to tell me what your feelings 
were ? Have I ever denied you anything that it was in my 
power to give you, since I took you from your dead mother’s 
arms ? Why should you have doubted my willingness to 
help you to obtain this prize also ?” 

“ Ah, yes, sir ; you have been only too good to me. It 
was the rememberance of your goodness that fettered my 
tongue then — that makes me stammer over my story now. 
But I will keep nothing back from you, since you demand 
it as a duty. I love that girl, dad — I love her now, God 
help me, as I shall never love any woman again. You are 
smiling I am sure. You think that the vows of twenty- 
four are easily forgotten. But you do not know Miss 
Travers, you have never seen her. But think of your own 
love, dad (if I may be so bold as to allude to it), think of 
the time when you believed in your wife, and would have 
felled the man to the groun’d who came to you with a tale 
against her — and pity me for hairing conceived a love as 
true and strong, and being compelled, not only to thrust it 
from me as an accursed things but to leave the woman I 
love without a word of explanation — to behave, as you aptly 


304 


PARSON JONES. 


put it, like a blackguard, in order not to violate what 
seemed to me the higher duty of the two.” 

“ I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Shaw, though he did. 
“ Come, let us have no more sentimentalism or beating 
about the bush, but tell me plainly, why did you desert this 
young lady, and why did you conceal the fact of your attach- 
ment from me ? I have been called to account, as it were, 
in your name, and I demand a full explanation from 
you.” 

“You shall have it, sir,” replied the young man ; “ but do 
not blame me if you are hurt by the relation. I met this 
girl (whom I love with my whole heart) at a ball in Chel- 
tenham. She was chaperoned by a lady friend, as she 
explained to me that her mother was a great invalid, and 
unable to attend any festivities of that sort. Cheltenham 
is a-gay place, you know, dad, and there was a ball or dance 
somewhere almost every night, so that Miss Travers and I 
met constantly, and had soon formed an attachment for 
each other, though I really did not realize how hard hit I 
was until you sent a letter from Paris recalling me to your 
side. The same evening I was dancing with Miss Travers 
at a friend’s house, when the subject of my departure 
cropped up, and as I spoke of it I saw the tears standing 
in her sweet eyes. That knocked me over altogether, and 
I had told her that I loved her and asked her to be my 
wife before I knew what I was doing. It was hardly neces- 
sary for her to answer me, I could see the love shining in 
her eyes, but she referred me to her mother, and it was 
agreed that I was to call on the invalid the next day. I 
went there, true to time, dad, you may be sure, and was 
introduced to one of the handsomest women I have ever 
seen — a faded and aged edition of the daughter, but oh, so 
lovely, even near death. Mrs. Travers received me very 
kindly and seemed to know all about me already. She 


PARSON JONES. 


305 


said that she knew her daughter’s happiness was involved 
in mine — that she had not many months to live, and she 
should be glad to think that she left her happy and safe in 
my care — but she had something to tell me first, which it 
was right I should know.” 

“ Well, well ! what was' this wonderful secret? ” said Mr. 
Shaw irritably. 

“ Oh, dad, I hardly know how to go on, but it must be 
told. I had heard before that Miss Travers’ father was liv- 
ing, though separated from his wife, and now Mrs. Travers 
told me that that was not her name — that she had been 
passing under her maiden one, and that her husband’s and 
daughter’s was — was — was ” 

“Was Shaw,” interposed his companion. “You see I 
can help you over the difficulty, Bertie.” 

“ Oh, sir, what could I do or say ? ” exclaimed the young 
man eagerly ; “ the news paralyzed me. I sat silent and 
dumfounded before it. My brain was in a whirl, I did 
not know what to answer. Mrs. Travers thought I was 
shocked at the news of her separation and explained all the 
circumstances of it to me. But you know it was not that. 
What had quarrels or parting to do with my love for 
Verena ? I would have married her if she herself had 
been a divorced woman. I loved her — I love her — and 
love knows no law and cares for the breaking of none, except 
its own. BatjaUy dad — you, my friend and benefactor, my 
more than father, it was of you that I thought. I knew the 
story of your grief and disappointment, of your love for 
your wife, and its bitter requital. I knew also that you had 
adopted me as some sort of alleviation of your pain. Was 
/ to be the one then to disappoint you over again, to go to 
you, to whom I owed everything I had in life — my home, 
my education, my means, all my comforts in the past, and 
all my prospects in the future — and say ‘ I love your 


3o6 


PARSON JONES. 


daughter, the child whom you refuge to see or acknowledge, 
but who is devoted to the wife who made your life one long 
regret ; and I want to leave your old age to be looked after 
by whoever will do it, for I must cleave to this new passion 
of mine and make the rest of my virtues, my gratitude and 
filial affection and sense of duty, all succumb to it.’ No, 
dad, I couldn’t ! it was impossible, though I was miserable 
enough over it, I can tell you. I pondered the question 
night and day, but I could see no way out of it. I knew 
you would never give your free consent to such a marriage. 
I must either give up Verena or you, and I couhhi't give up 
you, dad. My worst fault lay in my want of courage to 
tell Verena the truth. But I decided it would be better to 
leave her in ignorance, to let her believe that I was utterly 
unworthy of her, than to rake up the old sore in her mother’s 
breast, who might have considered it her duty to try and 
worry you into a reluctant compliance with our wishes. And 
that would not have satisfied me, or enabled me to make 
Verena happ3^ It must be all or nothing between you and 
me, dad. I am more than your son. I owe you more than 
life or a natural duty. I owe you everything, and have given 
you nothing in return. Oh, don’t let this misfortune of 
mine estrange us. I cannot help loving Verena, but you 
would never have been worried with the knowledge of my 
suffering if I could have helped it. And who told you of 
it ? ” continued Herbert Bryanstone, as he raised his blue 
eyes, which were not quite free from the suspicion of tears, 
to his god-father’s face. “ Surely not Verena herself? I 
don’t even know where she is at present, though I heard 
through a Cheltenham correspondent that her poor mother 
was dead, and that she had left the town.” 

“ She is living with her uncle. Captain Jefferson, in 
Wales,” replied Mr. Shaw, “ and it was the clergyman of 
the parish who told me that she considered herself engaged 


Parson Jones. 307 

to you, and was in great trouble because she had heard 
nothing of you for so long.” 

“My poor Verena ! ” groaned the young man, “what 
must she think of my cowardly behavior ? ” 

“So badly, that I don’t suppose she will ever speak to 
or look at you again, Bertie. Women are hard to conciliate 
in such cases. If you wound their vanity, you may say 
good-by to them. However, my daughter’s feelings in the 
matter are of little consequence ; for, of course, you know 
that it can never be.” 

“ Of course,” echoed Herbert Bryanstone mournfully, “ I 
have known it all along, and I am only sorry that the matter 
should have been revived. What business has this parson 
to interfere in my private matters ? ” 

“ I don’t know. They are generally a presuming race. 
I very nearly kicked him out of the room before he had 
time to open his subject.” 

“But what did he want you to do?” continued Bertie 
inquisitively. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” repeated Mr. Shaw, with an assump- 
tion of carelessness. “ Search you out, I believe, and give 
you a good thrashing — he did not know that I was even 
acquainted with you — and then send for my daughter and 
force you to marry her. A pretty programme, eh ? ” 

The young man smiled bitterly. 

“ Though no more than I deserve, doubtless, sir. Shall 
we drop the subject now? It makes me feel such a deuce 
of a blackguard. I shall go out and hang myself if you 
talk about it much longer.” 

“ Will you take the alternative then, and marry the girl ? 
You are your own master ; but if you want my consent I 
will give it to you freely.” 

Marry her !'* exclaimed Bertie, with a quick flash in 
his eye, “ but on what condition, sir ? To give you up ?” 


3o8 


PARSON- JONES. 


“ Well, you know that I am an obstinate man, and not 
likely to alter my convictions, once formed. But the girl 
will make up to you for my loss. Everyone may go to the 
wall, when a man’s in love.” 

“ No, sir, no ! ” exclaimed Herbert Bryanstone ener- 
getically. “ A man’s passions may be very strong — they 
generally are — but there’s a stronger feeling yet, and that 
is the gratitude which I owe to you. I may lament the loss 
of Verena to my life’s end — I think I shall — but if I forgot 
what I owe to you for her sake, if I forgot all your kind- 
ness, your patience, your generosity, I should never forgive 
myself. No woman could make up to me, sir, for the loss 
of my self-respect. Do you suppose I could be happy, 
even with your daughter for my wife, if the penalty were 
to cherish a never-dying memory of you, my best and 
kindest friend, made childless and spending your last da5^s 
in loneliness for my sake. Oh, dad, think better of me than 
that ! I have been a thankless recipient of your bounty, 
taking all you had to give me and making but an unworthy 
return, but do not believe me to be such an utter ingrate, 
for indeed you do me injustice by the thought.” 

He laid his strong young hand on the wrinkled one of 
his adopted father as he spoke, and Mr. Shaw had to make 
an effort to answer him without betraying his emotion. 

“ Well, Bertie,” he replied after a little while, as he 
pressed the honest young hand and released it, “you have 
made your choice and I will do my best to prevent your 
regretting it, but don’t say in the future that I fettered 
your inclinations. I won’t say that I am not gratified by 
your decision, for I am. I should have been very much 
disappointed indeed, if you had elected to desert me. It 
has been a most unfortunate circumstance altogether, but 
these contretemps are not to be avoided as we pass through 
life. I have been a victim myself, as you know, and you 


PARSON JONES. 


309 


must not expect to escape scot-free. Well, my business 
with you is ended, and the sooner you get back to Lawley 
and the others the better.” 

'‘Are you not coming back to the Hall yourself, dad ?” 

“ Not just yet, my boy. 1 must stay in town for a day 
or two longer. _ Had it not been so I would not have given 
you the trouble to run up ; but this was a subject which I 
felt I could not discuss by post. Will you stop in town for 
to-night with me or return at once ? ” 

“ I will dine with you, dad, and return by the night train. 
It won’t do to leave those fellows too long by themselves.” 
And Bertie heaved a big sigh. 

“ Don’t sigh like that, my boy, or I shall think you regret 
your resolution.” 

“ No, dad, no ! don’t think anything of the sort. I am 
not going to make a sawney of myself and worry you by 
appearing with a long face for the next three months. I 
had given up all hopes of her of my own free will, remem- 
ber, long ago. I am only a little tired with my journey. 
The fellows kept me up till three this morning. With your 
leave I will go to your bedroom and wash my face and 
hands.” 

He was turning away with a forced smile upon his coun- 
tenance, when Mr. Shaw stretched out his hand and draw- 
ing him to him kissed him on his broad open brow. 

“God bless you, Bertie,” he said simply. 

The young man tore himself away by main force, for he 
felt as if he were choking, and rushing from the apartment 
sought his god-father’s private room. As he arrived there 
he wrenched off his collar and necktie, and flinging himself 
headlong on the bed burst into tears. But the storm, 
though violent, was of short duration. In another moment 
he was listening attentively to the noises outside, as if fear- 
ful of having been overheard, and reassuming an upright 


310 


PAJ^SON JONES. 


position, walked to the washstand and dipped his burning 
face into cold water. Five minutes after, he re-entered the 
sitting room smiling and cheerful, and for the remainder of 
his visit no allusion was made to the object which had 
brought him to London. When the evening arrived Mr. 
Shaw parted from his adopted son with every token of 
affection, and was relieved when the train started and he 
knew him to be safely on his journey back to Yorkshire. 

“I could have done nothing while he was here, dear 
boy,” thought the old man to himself, ‘‘but now I am free 
to act. My good, self-sacrificing Bertie ! His filial devo- 
tion and gratitude shall not go unrewarded. If my daugh- 
ter is worthy of him he shall have her.” 

He drew forth the photograph that the parson had left 
with him and gazed at Verena’s sweet, speaking features 
with a mingling of pride and new-born affection. 

“She looks like a good girl, and she is certainly very 
lovely — as lovely as her poor mother was in the days when 
I fell so madly in love with her. May she prove a better wife 
to my Bertie than her mother was to me ! And yet, some- 
times I think, now she is dead and done, that 1 was too 
harsh, perhaps, and unforgiving to poor Marion. She 
married me for my money and in revenge for her own dis- 
appointed feelings with regard to Captain Montague, but 
she did not deceive me. When I lookback on the unfor- 
gotten past, I cannot remember that she ever said she loved 
me. I loved her, and my passion made me see everything 
in a rosy light. She accepted my hand, and I was too 
happy to stop to inquire why she did so. And she was an 
inoffensive companion to me, if not a loving one. Poor 
Marion ! If I had given her time, perhaps, and taken her 
out of Montague’s way, she might have grown to love me 
for my forbearance. Women are affectionate creatures, as 
a rule, and apt to care for anyone who is patient with 


PARSON JONES. 


311 

their little foibles. Well, well ! I let the opportunity slip 
by, and now it is too late to undo the past or make any 
reparation for it. And if my girl is really attached to 
Bertie and marries some other man, my sad story may be 
repeated in her life. No, I will not allow that ! My un- 
selfish boy has read me a lesson. But I will judge for my- 
self ; I will let no parson fellow dictate to me what I should 
or should not do. I will take this opportunity to go down 
to Llanty-gollen and see- Verena. Verena! How well I 
remember choosing that name for her myself, and her poor 
mother declaring it was too fanciful and sentimental for 
an everyday child ! And yet she called her Verena when 
we were parted, though, if I remember right, she was 
baptized Cecil Verena. Dear, dear ! I wonder if poor 
Marion did care a little for me and my fancies after all. I 
shall never know now. All that I can hope for is that 
there is a place of meeting for us unhappy mortals here- 
after, where some of the mistakes we make in this world 
may be set right. And perhaps if I and her daughter can 
hit it off together, my poor wife may have some knowledge of 
the fact, wherever she may be, and it may make her happier 
— make her forgive my obstinacy and hardness, and draw 
us nearer when we meet again. Should it do so, how I 
shall bless that parson who took the trouble to come and 
tell me of Verena’s trouble. We shall see ! We shall see ! 
I never liked parsons, but there may be some good in them 
after all.” And with this solecism Mr. Shaw sought his 
couch. 


312 


PARSOlSr JONES. 


XIX. 

When the first excitement of changing his place of res- 
idence and meeting with his old friend, George Bates, had 
passed away. Parson Jones began to experience that feeling 
of homesickness which could not fail to attack a man so 
fond of his family and all the innocent pleasures of the 
country. He used to dream of his parsonage and the 
pretty garden on the slope with its abundance of flowers 
and fruit and vegetables. Night after night he played in 
fancy with his children on the far-spreading lawn. Now he 
was rolling with baby Lina on the mown grass, or tossing 
it over to laughing Mollie — or showing Hughie how to 
weed the flower beds, or Owen to groom the rough little 
Toby. And though Selina sometimes figured in these 
visions of his fancy, Verena never failed to put in an ap- 
pearance to torture him. She would come sailing over the 
emerald grass in her pure white gown, with roses in her 
hair and lilies in her hand, with her sweet smile which 
mocked his lonely heart whenever he suffered himself to 
think of her. Then the poor parson would wake, hot, 
restless, and uneasy, fearful lest he had committed a fearful 
sin in thus giving way to the reins of his imagination and 
dreaming of one so far removed from him. And he would try 
to atone for it the next day, by writing an extra long letter to 
his wife in which he would not even mention Verena’s 
name, and which would bring forth a flood of reproaches 
from the girl by the next po.st. She frequently wrote to 
him, though he only answered her letters through messages 
delivered through Lina — messages which all the world might 
have read and which conveyed no idea to her mind of what 
he might be doing on her behalf. He had only one glim- 
mer of hope from his interview with Mr. Shaw, and that 


PARSON JONES. 


313 


was the look he had caught on the old man’s face as he 
scrutinized the features of his fair child. David Jones had 
seen in that brief moment paternal pride and affection 
struggling with the hard obstinacy of the man’s nature and 
the resentment he still cherished against his dead wife. 
But he hoped great things from the thoughts that might 
come to him in solitude, when there was no one before 
whom he wished to keep up appearances, and the flood- 
gates of pride and coldness might be broken down. He 
would not mention the fact of his having sought her father, 
to Verena, because he remembered the scorn — a scorn 
equal to Mr. Shaw’s own — with which she had spoken of 
the likelihood of meeting the man who had been the cause 
of so much suffering to her mother. He resolved to leave 
the future entirely to Mr. Shaw ; and, if he found that he 
intended to take no steps with regard to Herbert Bryanstone, 
he would have to think of some other plan by which to run 
him to earth. Meanwhile, he moped after his little ones 
and worked as hard as he could in place of the Reverend 
John Neville, and prayed nightly that something might 
happen to send Verena away from the parsonage and he 
might hasten home to his dear ones again. 

“ My dear old chum,” said George Bates one morning at 
breakfast. “ Do you think you know enough of my ways 
by this time to carry on the parish work for a couple of 
days by yourself.” 

“ Why, my dear George, of course I do ! If you want to 
go anywhere, go ; I shall be hurt if you imagine I shall 
neglect anything during your absence.” 

“ It isn’t that, you know, Davy, but I hate to leave you 
by yourself, for only a day, and I shall want two. I want 
to run down into the country to see some old friends. If 
you think you can spare me for so long I will go by a night 
train to-morrow and return on Thursday morning. 


St 4 PA A SON JONES. 

“ Why hurry so, George ? I can just as well take your 
duty to the end of the week. So long as you are back for 
Sunday, as I am not prepared with one of my magnificent 
sermons that would set the Thames on fire.*' 

“No, no! enough is as good as a feast. You are so 
very modest, Davy, that I will take a leaf out of your book,” 
replied George Bates, laughing, “and say that my friends 
will have more than enough of me by that time. Two days, 
my boy, and you will see this child back again at his 
post.” 

“ Where are you going, George ?” asked Parson Jones. 

The Reverend Mr. Bates looked very sly. 

“ Ah ! that's tellings,” he said, “ don’t you be too inquis- 
itive ! How do you know I’m not going to ‘set my fate 
upon the die, to lose or win it all ’? ” 

“ I hope you may be, old man, for I think you would be 
much happier if you were married, and that you may win,” 
said the parson. 

“ No, Davy, nothing of the sort ! Don’t you try to lead 
me into the same trap with yourself, you tail-less old fox ! I 
have told you the truth. I am going to visit some friends, 
and I shall be back on Thursday.” 

“ All right, George,” said David Jones indifferently. 

His friend started the next day, and he went the parish 
rounds alone. As he was walking at some distance from 
Whitechapel, in the heart of the great city of London, at 
the call of a sick friend of Mr. Bates’, he was startled from 
a reverie of Llanty-gollen and his babies and his hopeless 
love, by hearing a voice that seemed very familiar to him ; 
and, looking up, ran almost against, to his extreme aston- 
ishment, Mrs. Jefferson and her friend Colonel Arbuthnott. 
The lady’s surprise and disgust were plainly visible in her 
features. She almost screamed when she saw who she had 
cannoned against, and her companion gave vent to a most 


PARSON JONES. 


3^5 


unbecoming oath. Parson Jones stood stock still as if he 
had seen a ghost, while Mrs. Jefferson stared at him as if 
she were in a dream, and then gave way to a burst of hys- 
terical laughter. 

“ Mr. Jones ! ” she exclaimed in her shrill voice. “ Why, 
who on earth would have thought of meeting you here ? 
What are you doing in London ? ” 

“ I might put the same question, I think, to yon, Mrs. 
Jefferson. I thought you were in Devonshire with Miss 
Abbott.” 

“ Oh, indeed, and so I was, or may say I am, since I have 
only run up for a day to see the dog show at the Crystal 
Palace. And pray how is Miss Verena ? I hear she is so 
domiciled at the parsonage that she is quite one of the 
family. Pray, do you intend to keep her there alto- 
gether ? ” 

“ I am afraid Miss Shaw would not consent to such a 
stupid arrangement, Mrs. Jefferson, though I think my wife 
would be only too glad to do so if one may judge from 
the enthusiastic accounts she sends me of their friend- 
ship.” 

“Indeed! Well I think it is very kind and good- 
natured of Mrs. Jones, and I wish all husbands and wives 
played into each other’s hands as complacently. What 
would I not give to infuse some of the same milk of human 
kindness into the breast of Captain Jefferson. He opposes 
every single thing I do. There would be no end of a storm 
if he heard even that I had run up to town for a day, to 
attend this lecture.” 

“What lecture?” inquired Parson Jones, innocently. “I 
understood you to say you had come up to see a dog 
show.” 

“ Of course, of course,” replied the lady, who was so con- 
fused that she did not know what she was saying. “ Why 


3i6 


PARSON JONES. 


do you catch me up so quickly, Mr. Jones ? Do you sup- 
pose I am telling you a story. I did come for the dog 
show, but I intend to go to a lecture this evening.” 

“Then you are really staying in town, Mrs. Jefferson. 
And where is your friend, Miss Abbott ? ” 

“ Oh, she is with me, of course ! Where else should she 
be ? ” said Mrs. Jefferson, speaking very fast and hurriedly ; 
“ and we are not exactly staying in town, as we return to 
my family in Devonshire to-morrow. But I hope you won’t 
mention that you have met me, Mr. Jone.s, when you write 
to Llanty-gollen ; not that I am in the least afraid of com- 
ments being made on anything that I may choose to do. It 
would be the height of impertinence in anyone to presume 
to do so. The high standard which I have raised for my 
rule of living must ever preserve me from the attacks of 
my enemies. I have lived up to my ideal in so strict a 
manner that I feel I can do things that other women in my 
position of life cannot afford to do.” 

“I would not be too sure of that, Mrs. Jefferson,” said 
Parson Jones. “ Some people are bold enough to detract 
from the most unsullied characters ; and, however much 
your own conscience may approve your actions, you must 
not forget the high authority we have for avoiding the very 
appearance of evil.” 

“ Evil ! ” cried the lady, growing very red. “ Really, Mr. 
Jones, I must say I think you exceed your office in using 
such a word with regard to me.” 

“ Do you ? I should be sorry to say anything offensive 
or to seem unkind or severe ; but I must say, Mrs. Jefferson, 
that in your peculiar position, that is, of a lady traveling 
without her husband, you cannot be too particular. For 
myself, it does not perhaps signify, but you might have met 
some acquaintance who would have thought it very pecu- 
liar, to say the least of it, to see you alone in London with 


PARSON JONES. 


317 


Colonel Arbuthnott, when you are supposed to be in Devon- 
shire with your family.” 

He knew he should excite her wrath, and perhaps her 
ill-will, by saying this ; but he felt he would be a coward if he 
did not put in a word for the absent Captain Jefferson, who 
had been kind to him and who he feared was being 
greatly deceived. But he was scarcely prepared for the 
shower of vituperation which he brought down upon his 
luckless head from the elegant and fashionable lady whose 
moral standard was so extremely high. 

“ How dare you ? ” she commenced breathlessly, ” how 
do you presume to speak to me in that way, Mr. Jones-? 
Do you know who I am, sir? I am not one of your com- 
mon parishioners in Llanty-gollen, and I will not stand 
being spoken to in such a strain of suspicion and reproof. 
You have taken a great deal too much upon yourself, I can 
assure you. Colonel Arbuthnott ! ” she continued, turning 
to that gentleman, who was standing by, looking very 
foolish but taking no part in the controversy, “are you 
going to stand by and hear me insulted in this way, in 
silence ? Tell this man that what I say is true, and that I 
came up to town with Miss Abbott, to see the dog show.” 

“ Oh, come along, Harriett,” replied the gallant colonel, 
who seemed to hold by the old adage of “ Least said soonest 
mended.’* “ Don’t let us detain this gentleman any longer. 
He must be a very queer sort of parson if he sees anything 
wrong in our taking a little walk together.” 

“ It is shameful, disgraceful — ” exclaimed Mrs. Jeffer- 
son hotly, “and it must be your own evil thoughts, Mr. 
Jones, that induce your suspicions of me. Pray how many 
walks and talks did you not take with Miss Verena in 
Llanty-gollen ; but of course there could be no harm in 
them with a parson as escort. You ought to be ashamed 
of yourself ! ’* 


PARSON JONES. 


318 

I do not think so,” replied David Jones mildly, or, if 
so, only because I have not had the courage to tell you 
what I think of your conduct and your professions of reli- 
gion sooner, Mrs. Jefferson. I see what you are afraid of 
— that I shall betray your secret ; but scandal has never 
been a weakness of mine, and, unless I am questioned, I 
shall say nothing. Only to yourself, let me give a parting 
warning, and that is, that unless you are more careful, you 
will certainly create the esclandre which you seem to dread. 
No woman can afford to do as you do with impunity, how- 
ever high the standard she may have raised for herself.” 

And, raising his hat, the parson went on his way. 

Mrs. Jefferson was dumb with annoyance and consterna- 
tion, and the colonel looked very grave. 

“ We have got ourselves in a mess and no mistake this 
time, Harriett,” he observed ; “ I told you it was very risky 
coming up to London, where you may meet an acquaint- 
ance at every step. I only hope to goodness that this med- 
dling sanctimonious parson may not consider it his duty to 
inform my better-half of this unfortunate rencontrej' 

“ Don’t talk such nonsense, William,” returned his compan- 
ion pettishly, “ there is no fear of that. I don’t suppose that 
he even knows you are married. It is my husband I am think- 
ing of, for he is quite a crony of this detestable Mr. Jones. 
I wish the man had been drowned before we had met him. 
But who would have anticipated coming across him in 
Bishopsgate Street, of all places in the world ? Why, I 
didn’t even know he was in London ! And to think this 
has all come about from my good nature in accompanying 
you to see your stupid wine merchant. It has always been 
the way ever since I was born. My kind heart has been 
the means of getting me into more scrapes than enough. 
I am always doing some silly good-natured thing like this. 
Any other woman would have stayed in the hotel and 


PARSON- JONES. 


319 


rested herself. Any other man, indeed, but you would 
have refused to drag her through a lot of filthy city streets 
just to gratify his own selfish whim to enjoy her company.’* 

“ Oh, come, Harriett, if you’re going to quarrel with me, 
I shall just put you into a cab and send you home at once. 
I can’t stand it, and so I warn you ! It’s bad enough to 
have met this fellow and run the chance of his repeating 
the story all over Llanty-gollen, without having a row with 
you as well. It’s just as much your fault as mine, for if I 
asked you to come out with me this morning, it was cer- 
tainly your proposition that we should come up to town 
for a week. So please to shut up and not jaw me any 
further.” 

“ Oh, very well ! you needn’t be so cross,” said the lady, 
“ there won’t be any scandal ; for I shall go and see Fanny 
Abbott this afternoon and tell her the whole truth, and she’ll 
swear to anything I ask her. I’ll write to Captain Jeffer- 
son at once and say I am staying with her for this week.” 

“ Do you think that will be safe ? ” inquired the colonel 
moodily. “ I don’t like the idea of your confiding in Miss 
Abbott. Women are so seldom true to one another. If 
you affronted her at any time she might go and peach 
against you. I would never trust a woman further than 
I could see her.” 

Bien oblige ! ” quoth Mrs. Jefferson, with a snee^ ; “I’d 
trust them to stand up for me better than a man, if your 
conduct to-day is a specimen of what you can do in that 
line. Why, you never said a word in my defense, but 
stood there, looking like a fool, and let the man rave at me 
as much as he liked.” 

“ What could I have done ? ” roared the colonel, who 
was a bad-tempered man and now fairly rou.sed. “ I couldn’t 
kick a parson in the middle of the street, and I’m not going 
to tell a lie, even for you. There was no alternative forme 


320 


PARSON JONES. 


but silence. Bother the fellow. Let him think what he 
will. It’s no good spoiling our holiday by troubling our- 
selves about him.” 

“ That’s all very well for you to say, William. You’re 
a man, but it is different for me, and I’m not going to be 
scandalized without an effort to prevent it, so I insist upon 
going to see Fanny Abbott this very afternoon.** 

“Do as you choose,” grumbled her companion, “but 
don’t blame me for anything that may happen afterward, 
that’s all ! ” 

And in a very bad humor with the parson and each other, 
the couple went on their way. 

Meanwhile the parson was angry with himself for not 
having said more instead of less. He was not such a fool 
but that the situation was patent to him, and he saw that 
his friend the captain was being kept considerably in the 
dark as to his wife’s proceedings. 

“ And it was about here, I suppose,” he thought, as he 
glanced up at the huge blocks of buildings that surrounded 
him on every side, that ‘ Praise-God Barebones,’ girt, like 
John the Baptist, with a cloth about his loins, ran along the 
parapets of the houses, shouting to the people to flee from 
the wrath to come. A sorry exhibition of intemperate 
zeal, we would say nowadays ; from a man who was a 
lunatic and should have been put into an asylum. But a 
courageous zeal, all the same, which doubtless sprang from 
a true faith in God and a desire to save his fellow-creatures. 
Where is such courage and such zeal nowadays ? Even 
I — an ordained minister of the Church, am afraid to speak 
my mind straight out. Does that wretched woman 
imagine that I do not see through her lies and her subter- 
fuge ? Does she think I am so blind as not to interpret 
her conduct aright ? And 5^et I could not tell her so. I 
dared not put my knowledge into plainer words. Had I 


PARSON JONES. 


321 


half the faith of poor ‘ Praise-God-Barebones/ I should 
have shouted in her ear, to cast away her sham religion, 
her affectations, her lies, and her base insinuations, and 
to show herself in her true colors, as a breaker of God’s 
holiest laws. But this is the nineteenth century instead of 
the sixteenth, and we are more civilized, and refined, and 
well-bred, and less zealous and true in our Maker’s service. 
But the day is near at hand when the task of exposing this 
woman’s hateful hypocrisy will be taken out of my hands. 
I feel sure of that and may well leave her to work her own 
ruin.” 

The Reverend George Bates’ old friends who lived in the 
country, happened to be two people whom he had never 
met before, namely old Mary Jones and the parson’s wife. 
But the innocent fable must surely have been forgiven him. 
He had resolved to travel down to Llanty-gollen with the 
ostensible motive of seeing how his curate was getting on 
with his temporary charge, but in reality, with the single 
idea of converting the old lady to her son’s way of thinking 
with regard to leaving England and the English Church. 
It was a difficult task that he had set himself and he had 
not the slightest notion how to set about it, but trusted to 
the strong maternal love of which he had heard so much to 
give him the opening he desired. He traveled down to 
Wales by a night train to save time ; and, having deposited 
his portmanteau at an inn in the nearest town, proceeded, 
as soon as his breakfast was over on the following morn- 
ing, to ride on a hired horse into the mountainous district 
of Llanty-gollen. As he passed through valleys and up the 
wooded hills, accompanied all the way by the babbling 
stream that teemed with salmon and other fish, he could 
not help wondering again, what motive his old chum could 
have for wishing to leave such loveliness behind him. 


322 


PARSON JONES. 


“ What a little heaven this would seem to me after having 
toiled for eleven years in Whitechapel,” he thought to him- 
self as he rode slowly along ; “ what peace, what quietude, 
what a feeling of rest there seems to breathe from every- 
thing around. Davy must have some very powerful 
reason for wishing to run away from it, as if it were the 
mouth of hell itself. Well, perhaps it has been so to 
him, poor fellow ! for he is certainly most anxious to throw 
all remembrance of it behind him. And if I can help 
him, I will ) Never can I forget during my lifetime, nor 
after it, I hope, what he has been to me and done for me.” 

He reached Llanty-gollen itself just as the church clock 
was striking eleven, and came upon the inhabitants of the 
parsonage in the full tide of their household duties. Selina, 
having dispatched her little sons and Mollie to their daily 
school, was superintending the manufacture of a pudding 
for the early dinner, while Mary Jones was slowly inditing 
a letter to her son. Verena alone was seated in the par- 
lor, painting at her canvas ; and rose rather confusedly as 
the servant, without any ceremony and a black on her nose, 
announced the advent of a “ gentleman as wants to see the 
mistress,” and shoved rather than ushered the Reverend 
George Bates into her presence. Mr. Bates gazed at the 
lovely girl before him with astonishment. His friend had 
never given him a hint that there was any other inmate of 
the parsonage than his wife and family. 

“ I beg your pardon. I hope I am not interrupting you,” 
he said, “ but your servant has forgotten to announce my 
name. I am George Bates, with whom Mr. Jones is 
staying ” 

But he had hardly got beyond the mention of his own 
name before Verena had started forward, exclaiming : 

“Oh, he is not ill ! You have not come with any bad 
news of him, I hope.” 


PARSON JONES. 323 

No, no, certainly not. But have I the pleasure then of 
addressing Mrs. Jones ? ” 

Verena blushed. 

Oh, dear, no. Mr. Jones is only a dear friend of mine. 
And we are all so very anxious about him and miss him so 
much. I will go and tell Mrs. Jones that you are here. 
But you are quite sure that there is nothing wrong with 
him — that he is getting better. Is he coming back soon ? 
And is he the better for his change? Llanty-gollen is not 
the same place since he went away, at least not to us,” she 
added smiling, as she left the room to tell Selina of the 
arrival of their guest. 

Only a very dear friend of mine,” thought George 
Bates, as he found himself alone. “ Oho 1 not a very safe 
sort of friend though, my dear Davy ; and, if she has been 
an inmate of the parsonage long, I think I see light through 
the darkness. Decidedly, my friend, run away, and as 
hard as you can go. I don’t think I ever saw a prettier 
creature in my life. I’m not sure if I could stand her long 
myself, and I’m not given that way at all. Dear old chum, 
I wonder if I’ve hit the right nail on the head. If so, 
everything that seemed unaccountable is accounted for.” 

Selina, fresh from wiping her rosy hands free from flour 
and suet, came in almost as flurried as Verena had been. 

Oh, Mr. Bates ! we are very glad to see you, but I trust 
you have not come to break any sad news to us. It is the 
first time that my husband has left home since our marriage, 
and I shall never be happy till he is safe back again. And 
grandmamma is more nervous than I am, a great deal. 
She is very old you know, seventy-six on her next birthday, 
and we are obliged to be very careful of her. If David is 
ill, pray let me know at once.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Jones,” said George Bates, as he shook 
her by the hand, “ if you will all persist on being so alarmed 


324 


PARSON JONES. 


I shall never forgive myself for having traveled down with- 
out giving you better warning of my intentions. Your 
husband is quite well, believe me, indeed much better, I 
think, both in mind and body, than when he came to town a 
month ago. He is very active, taking more than half my 
work off my shoulders, and so, as he seemed quite able to 
go on without me for the next few days, I thought I would 
take advantage of his kindness to run down to Llanty- 
gollen and see how Mr. Neville is getting on with you all." 

Selina sat down all smiles and much relieved. 

“ Very nicely indeed, I can assure you. Everyone seems 
to like him, but we want Davy back. When will he come, 
Mr. Bates ? Of course he must stay as long as it is neces- 
sary, but it is sad work without him here. We are only 
just existing, I can assure you. If it were not for Verena, 
I don’t know how I should get through the time ; and as for 
grandmamma, she frets till she is quite ill." 

“ Verena ? " said Mr. Bates inquiringly. 

Yes ; the young lady who received you just now. She 
is a great pet of Davy’s, and has come to stay with me dur- 
ing his absence." 

“ Ah, yes ! very pleasant, I am sure ! Can I see Mr. 
Neville ? " 

“ He is on his parish rounds at present, sir, but he will 
be home to dinner at two o’clock. I hope you will stay to 
dinner with us, Mr. Bates. We have only a very plain one ; 
but you will not expect luxuries in a parson’s house, I am 
sure." 

“ I shall have great pleasure in doing so, Mrs. Jones, but 
you must not allow me to prove an inconvenience to you. 
I am sorry I did not send you an intimation of my arrival, 
but the plain truth i.s, that I was not sure till the last 
moment whether I could get away ; neither did I tell Jones 
where I was going, for I was afraid it would raise such a 


PARSON JONES. 325 

longing in his breast to accompany me that he would have 
been unable to attend to his duties during my absence.” 

Selina’s faithful eyes filled with tears. 

“ Ah, Mr. Bates ! our Davy loves his home and his little 
ones beyond all earthly things. Poor darling ! I know how 
he must pine after us all ; but not more than we do after 
him.” 

“ I hope to have the pleasure of making the acquaintance 
of my old friend’s mother during my stay, Mrs. Jones. 
David has so often spoken to me of her devotion for him, 
and his equally absorbing affection for her, that I feel sure 
we shall find a mutual subject of interest in speaking of him.” 

“ Oh, yes, to be sure ! ” replied Selina, relieved to find 
some way of disposing of her guest while she was engaged 
in her domestic duties ; and I am sure grandmamma 
will be delighted to see you also. Come this way, sir,” 
leading him into a second little room on the ground floor. 

We call this grandmamma’s room, as it is where she comes 
when the children are too noisy for her. Grandmamma,” 
she continued in a high key to Mary Jones, who was bend- 
ing over the table, painfully trying to trace a few lines of 
affection to her beloved son, “ here is Davy’s old friend, 
Mr. Bates, come to pay us a visit and have a talk with you 
about him. He will stay to dinner with us, and I am sure 
you will be pleased to have him all to yourself for a little 
while, and hear all he has to tell you about Davy.” 

“ There is nothing wrong, I hope,” said the old lady in a 
tremulous voice, as she slowly rose to a standing position. 
But George Bates gently pressed her back into her chair. 

“ Pray don’t rise for me, my dear madam,” he said. 

Nothing wrong — of course not ! or I should not have 
dared present myself before you. Davy is well, and, I 
hope, happy ; that is, as happy as he can be away from you 
and all whom he loves so well.” 


326 


PARSON JONES. 


“ Oh, sir ! excuse my anxiety,” exclaimed Mary Jones, as 
she resumed her seat ; “ but if you only knew what he is to 
me and his dear wife and children. It is a sore trial to us 
parting from him,” she continued, wiping her eyes, “ but he 
seemed to be restless and out of sorts, and so we deemed it 
best to let him go for a while; but it has been a bitter time, 
a weary time,” she repeated with tremulous pathos. 

“ And as much so to him as it has been to you, my dear 
madam,” replied George Bates consolingly, “ but he is 
decidedly better, and doubtless will soon return to you. 
The change to London has done him good, but it is not the 
entire change that he requires; and, if it becomes necessary, 
you will have to make up your mind to see him go away 
again.” 

“ Oh, don’t say that, sir ! ” exclaimed the old woman, 
looking up in alarm. You don’t know what my son is to 
me, and has been ever since his dear father’s death. 
Everything, sir, everything : and to part with him has 
nearly broken my heart. I am a very old woman, as you 
may see : seventy-six years on my next birthday, should I 
live to see it, and I cannot reasonably expect to be here 
many years longer ; and, if those years are to be spent sep- 
arate from my son, why, the sooner I go the better, for 
there will be nothing to keep me here without the light of 
his presence.” 

“ But why should you part from him, my dear Mrs. 
Jones ? I am sure it is the very last thing that David 
desires. All his thoughts and wishes are for you, his 
mother. I really believe you are his first consideration, 
and that his wife and children come after you.” 

Mary Jones smiled a proud smile of gratification. 

“ He has always been the best of sons,” she said pres- 
ently. He has never had a rival in my heart — never; and 
though he loves his wife and sweet children dearly, still I 


PARSON JONES. 327 

believe what you say, that his old mother has the best 
place in his heart, after all." 

“ I am sure of it, Mrs. Jones, and also that he would re- 
ject any plan that his friends thought best for him, if you 
set your face against it." 

“ But what plan could my David think of ? " demanded 
the old lady anxiously ; “ he is settled here in Llanty-gollen 
I trust for life ; and I shall lie, when my time comes (and it 
cannot be far off you know, Mr. Bates," she added wist- 
fully), “where his blessed feet shall tread by my grave 
whenever he goes to fulfill his sacred ministry in the 
church." 

“ I don’t think you need talk about going just yet, Mrs. 
Jones,” said her visitor ; “ you seem very hale and hearty 
to me. You have twenty good years of life in you yet ; that 
is, you would have if you were not living in such an abom- 
inable climate as that of the United Kingdom." 

“ I thought people were supposed to live longer in Eng- 
land than in any other country," said Mary Jones, with a 
smile; for she liked to be called hearty. She was like plenty 
of other well-meaning persons : she averred her strong be- 
lief in heaven and everlasting bliss, and the many mansions 
prepared for the faithful, but she did not care to think 
about going there. She was a vigorous old woman, and 
had a tenacious hold on life, and would have liked to put 
off the heavenly mansions as long as she could, and stop 
here to look after her beloved David. 

“ Not people who have reached your age, dear Mrs. 
Jones," replied George, “they generally thrive better in a 
dry equable climate like that of Australia or New Zealand. 
It is a common thing to hear of Englishmen reaching their 
hundredth year out in the colonies. The air is so pure and 
invigorating that they become quite patriarchal." 

“ Ah ! Australia," rejoined the old lady with a sigh, “ I 


328 


PARSON JONES. 


shall never see that country. But now tell me about my 
boy, Mr. Bates. You know he will never be anything but 
a boy to me, even were I to live to see him reach my 
age.” 

And thereupon ensued a conversation that was deeply 
interesting to at least one of the talkers ; in the course of 
which George Bates told his eager listener all his stories 
about college life and how David had been the means, under 
God, of awakening him to a sense of his responsibilities in 
life, and altered the whole course of his being. Mary Jones 
heard it all with tears of thankfulness pouring down her 
cheeks, and fairly sobbed aloud before he had finished. 
George Bates did not attempt to stop her emotion, or to dry 
her tears. He was pleased to see them flow. He hoped 
they would prove a strong agent in aiding him to alter the 
course of her mind regarding her son. And, even before 
Selina had called them to dinner, he had gained one point. 

“Oh, he is a good son — a good man, Mr. Bates,” said the 
mother at last. “I do not believe that any woman ever had 
such a blessing vouchsafed her in this world before, as my 
son David has been to me.” 

“ I quite agree with you, Mrs. Jones,” said David’s friend, 
“ and that you would be bound to make any sacrifice to 
ensure the happiness of so good and dutiful a son. I sup- 
pose it has never occurred to you that my friend might have 
ambitions, which were not bounded by this little parish of 
Llanty-gollen.” 

“ Do you mean that he might wish to leave it, Mr. Bates ? 
Oh, no, indeed, I am sure he would not. Why, he was most 
fortunate to obtain the living. It was all through the kind- 
ness of the bishop that he was appointed ; and, had it not 
been so, he could not have married dear Selina. David 
feels he owes everything to Dr. Garley. It would be very 
ungrateful of him to wish to go. And where should he go 


PARSON JONES. 


329 


to ? I hope you are not trying to persuade him to remain in 
London, sir,” she added anxiously, “ for I have heard it is a 
terrible place, and full of temptations. I did not like his 
going there, even for a little while, I assure you.” George 
Bates laughed. 

“ I don’t think Davy will yield to any of the temptations, 
Mrs. Jones. Why, I have not been able to persuade the 
dear old sobersides to accompany me to any place of enter- 
tainment even. No ! no ! I was not thinking of that. Lon- 
don is utterly unsuited to such a lover of nature. It is 
with the greatest difficulty I can keep him there at all. But 
such a thing might arise as his health requiring a complete 
change ; a change to another climate, for example ; or a 
wider sphere of action might be opened to him, or one 
more congenial to his feelings. There is not much scope 
for a man’s talents in a little place like this, Mrs. Jones ; 
and Davy is a clever fellow, with heaps more in him than 
has ever had the opportunity to be brought out ; and he 
ought to have a more responsible position than Llanty- 
gollen affords him.” 

Now this was touching Mary Jones on her tenderest point. 
It had ever been her weakness to imagine her son to be 
very clever, which he was not, and fit to fill the highest 
position in the Church, if the Archbishop of Canterbury 
had only had his wits about him. She bridled under 
George Bates’ unlimited praise as if he had been compli- 
menting herself ; and the rascal saw the advantage he had 
gained, and proceeded to lay it on a little thicker. 

“ Yes,” he continued, as if musingly, “ he is certainly a 
clever man — a very clever man, and has capabilities for 
the highest things. They say, you know, my dear Mrs. 
Jones, that there has never been a clever man born who 
had not a clever mother. I don’t know, of course, if David’s 
father particularly excelled in anything, or if he owes his 


330 


PARSON- JONES. 


decided merits to both his parents, or only to yourself; but 
that he possesses talent of a very high order there is no 
doubt. And I feel sure that you, his mother, must have 
perceived it, and grieved inwardly to think that he has not 
obtained, as yet, a wider field for his labors." 

The old lady tried to look very modest and not too much 
pleased. 

“ My dear lamented husband, Mr. Bates," she com- 
menced, “ was an excellent husband to me, and the best of 
fathers to my son. He was not, perhaps, very brilliant, 
but a good business man, and honest as the day. Whether 
our dear David takes more after him or after me, of course, I 
am not able to judge; but I have always felt that he had 
great talents, and that they have not been recognized as 
they should be. If the Lord ever saw fit to pave the way 
for his removal to a field of greater usefulness, I hope I 
should know my duty better than to oppose the plan. But 
it is quite unlikely — quite, quite so." 

George would not say more at that juncture; and, shortly 
afterward, they were summoned to the dinner table, where 
the beauty, and sprightliness, and vivacity of Verena Shaw 
quite took up his attention. 

“ My poor Davy," he thought, as he gazed at her ; “ if 
this is the truth, I pity you ! " 

Verena was full of curiosity as to where her dear Mr. 
Jones had been, and whom he had seen and talked to during 
his stay in London; and Mr. Bates had enough to do to 
answer all the questions she put to him. The Reverend 
John Neville was present at the meal, and rather offended, 
apparently, that his chief should have considered it neces- 
sary to travel all the way into Wales to see that he was not 
getting into mischief. 

“You needn’t flatter yourself too much, my boy," 
responded George Bates, in his quaint way; “ perhaps I 


PARSON" JONES. 


331 


have other means of ascertaining how my friend’s affairs 
are progressing during his absence, and did not run down 
to see you at all, but these ladies instead. I am glad to 
hear, from Mrs. David Jones, that everything has gone on 
smoothly, though, and there have been no complaints.” 

“ Complaints, sir,” said the Reverend Jack, firing up. 

“ Ah, well, my boy, you know what I mean. No altera- 
tions in my friend’s church formula. But if such a green- 
horn as you can conduct a parish like this satisfactorily, it 
only proves of what much higher duties my friend Jones 
must be capable. He is thrown away on a village like 
Llanty-gollen.” 

“ Do you hear that, Selina ? ” said the old lady, in a half 
whisper. 

But George Bates did not consider it advisable to drive 
his willing horse to death, and refused to talk any more of 
Davy’s talents for that while. The presence of the chil- 
dren at the dinner table was a great help, not only to turn- 
ing the subject, but to winning his way into the good 
graces of their grandmother. He played with the little 
boys and girls, and told them anecdotes of their Arab 
brothers and sisters in Whitechapel, till they clustered 
round him like a hive of bees; and then he walked off with 
the curate and did not present himself again until supper was 
on the table. By that time, Mary Jones had repeated every 
word he had said in praise of her David over and over 
again, to both Selina and Verena, who readily acquiesced 
in her opinion of the rectitude of Mr. Bates’ judgment, 

“ Of course he was too good for Llanty-gollen : had they 
not always said so ? and thrown away on the horrid set 
they had there. How could a handful of uneducated vil- 
lagers understand dear David’s beautiful sermons, or appre- 
ciate the way in which he read the lessons ? Now he had 
gone to London, of course, people had found it out. He 


332 


PARSON JONES. 


might have remained in Wales forever, and no one would 
have said he was clever, or too good for the place.” 

“ If it were only the Lord’s will to transplant him to a 
more favorable sphere,” commented Mary Jones, wiping 
her moistened eyes; “but we must not repine, my dears, for 
our dear one will do his duty wherever he may be placed. 
But I can never be sufficiently thankful that dear Mr. Bates 
thought of coming down here to tell us such pleasant news. 
I shall remember it all my life : I shall indeed.” 

Consequently, when George presented himself at supper 
time, he received a warm welcome from all the household ; 
and, carefully avoiding the further mention of his friend’s 
wasted talents, confined his conversation entirely to an ac- 
count of New Zealand and the great work being done out 
there by some devoted missionaries. 

“ I often wish,” he said, “ that it had been my lot to be 
a missionary. I would become one even now, were it not 
that my cure has become so dear to me that I cannot 
find it in my heart to give it up to any man who would care 
for it less than I do. But Davy says I am cut out for 
a missionary. I am rather afraid, being such a plump 
party, of being cut up for one. Davy is more suitable for 
that sort of work himself. Savages have not yet 
attained, I believe, to the civilization of liking grilled 
bones.” 

“ It would be a privilege, under any circumstances, to 
be martyred in the service of the Lord,” observed the 
Reverend John Neville gravely ; at which Verena stuffed 
her handkerchief into her mouth to prevent laughing out- 
right. 

“ Do you think so ? ” replied his vicar. “ Well, I am not 
sure how you are off for fat, Jack ; but, if it was a privi- 
lege for you, it might not be for the savages ; and so, if you 
ever go among them, I hope you will fatten yourself 


PARSON JONES. 


333 


up a bit as a part of your duty toward your neighbor. 
However, I wasn’t thinking of being grilled or fried 
when I spoke of being a missionary just now. I was allud- 
ing, rather, to the wonderful scope it must give for speaking 
a man’s mind, without let or hindrance. I can fancy my 
dear friend David, standing among the palm trees of India, 
the jungles of Borneo, in the tangled loveliness of the 
Australian bush, or on the beach of NeV Zealand, and 
preaching the Word just as the thoughts come into his 
mind, without shyness or fear : telling his own pure life, in 
fact, as he exhorts his fellow-men to lead a higher and bet- 
ter one, than has been their wont. New Zealand is a 
magnificent country, full of natural beauties. The rich, 
fertile ground yields her produce almost without labor, 
and the fruit grows in its pristine loveliness, just as it did in 
the Garden of Eden. The cultivation of fruit there is 
quite an object of trade. Peaches, nectarines, apples, and 
pears are sent to the foreign markets in large quanti- 
ties, and yield rich profits to their growers. Indeed, I can 
imagine no fairer prospect to the man who desires to make 
a new life for himself, than to go out to beautiful New 
Zealand and settle down for the remainder of his earthly 
existence.” 

“ It. sounds too delightful,” sighed Selina, “ like the 
Promised Land in the Scriptures, flowing with milk and 
honey.” 

“ More like the Paradise promised to the faithful, Selina,” 
interposed the old lady, quite eagerly. “ My dear, when 
my time comes, I hope and expect to find myself with my 
dear husband, in just such a land as Mr. Bates has de- 
scribed to us. Fancy wandering under the shade of those 
delightful orchards, and in such a heavenly climate. But 
we must wait till we cross the boundary before we can 
realize it. It is very pleasant to think of, and to remem- 


334 


PARSON JONES. 


ber that many of our fellow-creatures are enjoying it, 
but it is not for us who have our home and work cut 
out in England.” 

Verena had listened attentively to the conversation, but 
made no remark on the subject. Now Selina turned to her, 
and asked if she had not been fascinated by the descrip- 
tion which they had heard, and would not like to go and 
make her home in New Zealand. The girl blushed and 
shook her head. 

“ Not unless those whom I love best were there also,” 
she said. 

Oh, of course,” replied Lina ; “ but, if we were all go- 
ing, you would like to go then, wouldn’t you, Verena ? ” 

“ I am not sure,” said Verena, “ perhaps I should. I 
love you all dearly, as you know, but New Zealand is a 
long way off ; and, in fact, I hope there is no chance of 
your going, for I should be miserable here without you.” 

“ Any chance of our going, my dear,” exclaimed the old 
lady. ‘‘ Why, of course, there is not ! Selina was only jok- 
ing. How could my dearson abandon his sacred charge? 
And how could I cross the ocean ? Dear me, no. We 
shall live and die in Llanty-gollen, you may be sure of 
that ; but it is very pleasant to hear of — like a beautiful 
fairy tale, of which I used to be so fond when I was young. 
I am glad Mr. Bates knew so much to tell us. It has 
passed a very pleasant evening.” 

George Bates now rose to take his leave for the night, 
promising to ride over and say good-by to them before he 
left Wales the next morning. Verena, although she had 
taken very little part in the conversation during the day, 
thought a great deal about their visitor after she had retired 
to her room. How she wished she had had the courage to 
question him a little more about the movements and doings 
of Parson Jones during his stay in London. Not that he 


PARSON JONES. 


335 


was likely to have discussed her private affairs with a 
stranger : she knew him too well for that ; but Mr. Bates 
must know something of his acquaintances, and might have 
told her that he had not forgotten his promise to inter- 
est himself in her heart’s history. For Verena had not 
received a line from the parson since he left his home ; and 
she was in a great state of perplexity and suspense. 
Neither her aunt nor uncle had yet given any signs of re- 
turning to Llanty-gollen ; and, though she was as happy as 
she could be at the parsonage, she was becoming terribly 
anxious and looked pale and careworn. The next morn- 
ing was bright, and clear, and sunny : one of those lovely 
days which we sometimes get in this uncertain climate, as 
a species of farewell from autumn before it resolves itself 
into winter. The frost had not yet touched the parson’s 
prize dahlias ; though, had he been at home to look after 
them, their precious roots would have been protected some 
time since. The chrysanthemums, and wallflowers, and 
winter daisies were in full beauty, and the early blowing 
violets and autumn primroses dotted the borders and made 
the garden look quite gay. The girl had gathered a bunch 
of violets and placed them in her belt, when, as she stood 
in the rustic porch, she saw a man’s figure coming slowly 
up the drive. She thought at the first glance that it was 
Mr. Bates, on the way to bid them all good-by, and called 
out to Lina, who was in her kitchen as usual, to that effect. 

“ Do receive him, there’s a good girl,” called back the 
mistress of the home, “ and say I will be with him in a 
minute.” So Verena returned to the porch to welcome 
the visitor. He was close at hand by that time, and she saw 
at once that she had been mistaken in his identity. He 
was an old man, perhaps fifty-five or sixty : his figure was 
somewhat bent, more from weakness apparently than age : 
his dress and appearance were those of a gentleman, but 


336 


PARSON JONES. 


there was a disregard of care and neatness in his attire that 
seemed to bespeak an utter indifference to what the world 
might think or say of him. He had a shrewd and clever 
face, with iron gray hair, and shaggy brows, from beneath 
which his piercing gray eyes looked forth somewhat sus- 
piciously. Altogether, his was not a face and figure to 
fascinate the beholder at first sight, but he steadily ap- 
proached the parsonage and therefore Verena remained in 
the porch to do the honors as Selina had requested her. 

“ Good-morning, sir ! ” she said politely, as he reached 
her side. 

The stranger glanced up at the sound of her fresh young 
voice and started at the sight of her slight figure standing 
there ready to receive him. But he answered rather 
gruffly : 

“ Good-morning ! Can I see Mrs. Jones ? ” 

“ She is engaged for a minute, but if you will walk in 
she will see you as soon as possible.” 

“ And is Miss Shaw still staying with her ? ” demanded 
the old man. 

“ I am Miss Shaw ! ” replied Verena simply. 

“ Ah ! I thought so — I thought so. And you don’t know 
who I am, I suppose. You have never seen anyone like 
me before, eh. Miss Shaw ?” 

Verena began to think the stranger must be slightly 
demented. 

“ No ! ” she replied, withdrawing herself further into the 
shelter of the porch, “ how should I ? I have never met 
you before ? ” 

“ Ah ! never met me, haven’t you ? nor heard of me 
either, I bet ! And yet you are not unlike what I was 
when I was young aud happy, as I suppose you are, or 
ought to be.” 

A faint light seemed to dawn upon her. 


PARSON JONES. 


337 


Good God ! " she exclaimed, shrinking visibly from him : 
“ do you mean to say that you are my father ? ” 

That visible shrinking touched Mr, Shaw more than any- 
thing else could have done. He had come there with great 
hopes, though he had such a rough way of expressing him- 
self, and that his child should evince repugnance at the 
idea of his vicinity shocked and hurt him. 

“ Verena,” he said in an altered tone, “don’t turn from 
me like that. Hear at least what I have to say to you. I 
have come down here on purpose to see you. It is not 
all ?ny fault that we have not met as father and child before. 
Let me try and explain my wishes to you now.” 

The girl had shrunk before his presence until she had 
backed herself into the parlor, where Mr. Shaw followed her. 

“ Don’t come near me, sir, I beg of you,” she said as he 
attempted to approach her. “ You inspire me with feelings 
of the greatest abhorrence. You may be my father, but I 
can never regard you with the affection of a child. I beg, 
I pray of you to go away and leave me.” 

“But why do you feel so bitterly toward me, Verena,” 
remonstrated the unhappy man ; “ what harm have I ever 
done you beyond refraining from worrying you with my 
presence ? ” 

“ What harm ? ” repeated the girl, with blazing eyes ; 
“ do you suppose I have forgotten my mother, sir — my 
darling, patient, uncomplaining mother, who lay for years 
upon her sofa slowly dying, and never uttering a word of 
reproach to the man who had brought her to such a plight — 
the man who was rolling in luxuries all the time, which I 
had no means to procure for her. And she died, sir — died 
in pain and weariness and loneliness, except for me — died, 
too, with a cloud upon her name, which she had never 
deserved, and I have lost my only friend forever. And 
you expect me to welcome you, I suppose, after nineteen 


338 


PARSON JONES. 


years of neglect, during which you never remembered that 
you had a daughter — to welcome you who made my dear 
mother unhappy, while you enjoyed your own life to the 
uttermost.” 

“ Stay, Verena ! you are talking too fast. You do not 
know the circumstances of the case. You accuse me of 
things which I never did. In the first place, I had no 
power to see you. When your poor mother resolved to 
leave me — and if she told you the truth, you must know 
that our separation was her own doing, by her own wish — 
she made it a stipulation that she was to have the entire 
charge and control of you during her lifetime ; and as our 
separation was a legal one, I had no power to alter the 
terms of it afterward. I had no idea either that she had 
not a sufficient allowance. The amount was fixed by her 
own solicitor and I always paid it regularly. So far, there- 
fore, my child, I am not to blame. As for your accusation 
that while your poor mother lay dying I enjoyed my life to 
the uttermost, you have but to look in my face, Verena, to 
see that you are mistaken. Do I look like a happy man ? 
My age is fifty-five, and men take me for seventy. I have 
wealth, 1 allow, wealth which I am only too anxious now 
to share with my only child ; but it has never brought me 
any happiness, because I have had to spend it alone.” 

Still Verena showed no signs of relenting. Her lips were 
tightly compressed, and she was breathing hard and fast, 
as she stood up against the parlor wall and refused even to 
glance at the man who was addressing her. 

“Verena,” recommenced her father, “you imagine that 
I did not love your mother. You never made a greater 
mistake in your life. She was the one love of mine. I 
have never replaced her.” 

“Then why did you leave her, sir?” she condescended 
to say. 


PARSON JONES, 


339 


“ I did not leave her. She left me. Had you ever loved, 
my dear, you might be better able to understand what I am 
now going to tell you. I married your mother after great 
opposition and difficulties, but I loved her passionately and 
was determined to have her. She refused me three times, 
and when at last she accepted my hand in marriage I was 
so elated at my success that I fully believed that it was my 
perseverance that had melted her indifference, and that she 
cared for me as much as I did for her.’" 

And didn’t she?” demanded Verena, now roused to 
something like interest in her father’s story. 

“ Let me tell you, Verena, but remember it is only to 
clear my own conduct in your eyes, and not to cast any 
blame on the dead, that I relate this story to you. A year 
after my marriage, and when you were only a few weeks 
old, I found your poor mother in a terrible state of grief, 
and on inquiry I found it was on account of a certain Cap- 
tain Montague having met with a severe accident in the 
hunting field, and she was in such a weakened condition 
that she was unable to conceal what she felt at the news. 
One thing led to another until I found that this Montague 
had been her first love, and the reason she had so often 
rejected my addresses. They had been engaged for some 
time, and then her family had insisted upon the match 
being broken off because of his poverty ; and finding they 
were obdurate she resolved to marry me. Conceive the 
position I found myself in. Married to a woman whom I 
adored, knowing all the while that her heart, as she openly 
confessed to me, belonged to another man. I am proud, 
Verena, and it cut me to the soul. I saw I had been mar- 
ried simply for my money, and my pride would not brook the 
insult. Had I not loved her so passionately I might have 
borne it better. As it was, however, one quarrel on the 
subject of Captain Montague led to another, until your 


340 


PARSON JONES. 


mother proposed a separation between us, and I was only 
too pleased to accede to it. The terms of her alimony 
were fixed without any caviling on my part, her only con- 
dition being that she should retain the care of her child. I 
have always considered that a mother has an unalienable 
right to the child she has brought into the world, so I con- 
sented to her wishes — perhaps a little relieved to think I 
should have no remembrance left behind of my unfortunate 
marriage. Since then I have lived a bachelor’s life, and 
never wished it to be otherwise, solacing myself, or trying 
to do so, in the affection of my adopted son, but who could 
never be to me as a child of my very own. You have heard 
my story accurately, Verena. Will you still think so hardly 
of me ? ” 

There were tears in Verena’s eyes and in her voice as 
she replied : “ I never heard anything of this before, father. 
My dear mother never alluded to the reason of her parting 
with you. I only judged from what I saw. I am sorry, 
very sorry, to know you should have been so disappointed 
in her, but it cannot alter the fact that she was my only 
parent and friend for many years, and I hold her memory 
so sacred that I could not do anything nor make any 
friendship that would seem to do her love for me dishonor, 
now that she is in her grave and cannot give her sanction 
to the proceeding.” 

“ I understand your feeling, my dear. But do you think 
your poor mother can view such things with the same eyes 
now as she did while on earth ? If she suffered, so did I. 
And you belong to me as much as to her. She had you 
all her life ; is it not my turn now ? ” 

“ She has been gone for a year,” replied Verena ; “why 
have you not sought me out before ?” 

“ I will tell you the truth. I was told you were so like 
your mother, that I did not think I could bear the sight of 


PARSON JONES. 


341 


you. And 1 believed you to be quite happy with your 
uncle Jefferson, and thought it better to let a little time 
elapse after your great grief before I raked up unpleasant 
memories in your mind.” 

‘‘And what induced you to come after me now, father ?” 

“ I come from a friend of your’s, Verena.” 

“ A friend of mine ? ” she questioned, with uplifted 
brows. “ How can that be ? I have no friends.*’ 

“ He calls himself so ; in fact, he would like to be more 
than a friend to you. His name is Herbert Bryanstone. 
Do you remember it ? ” 

Did she remember it ? By the scarlet flush that rushed 
into her cheeks at the very mention of it and mounted to 
the parting of her hair ; by the tremulous motion of her 
lips which opened once or twice to give utterance to her 
thoughts, but failed to produce any speech ; by the elo- 
quent, glowing eyes she mutely turned upon him, Mr. 
Shaw saw that there had been no need to put the question. 

“ He is my adopted son,” he continued, “ and he has 
told me the history of his acquaintance with and love for 
you. He left you without a word of explanation, and must 
have caused you a lot of trouble, but if you still care for 
him as he does for you, alj that is over from this date. It 
was a foolish thing for him to do, but he was in a fix 
and did not know how to extricate himself. I have 
brought him up since he was five years old, and he knows 
no other father but myself ; and when he found that he had 
engaged himself to my daughter, he saw no way out of the 
difficulty but running off and leaving no explanation 
behind him. But you must forgive him, for he has been 
miserable ever since, and a woman can forgive anything 
that is done for love of herself. I have come from Bertie, 
Verena, to ask if you will take him back again and make 
him happy. He is waiting for your answer. I am waiting 


342 


PARSON JONES. 


to take you back with me to London, if you will come with 
me, your father, and to your future husband.” 

O Love, the magician, how he transforms ! At the 
magic name of Herbert Bryanstone ; at the knowledge that 
he still loved her ; that he was, comparatively speaking, 
blameless in deserting her ; that he was waiting to give her 
back his sacred pledge,- and sanctioned by her father’s con- 
sent, Verena’s heart, which had been trying its hardest 
to shut itself against Mr. Shaw’s advances, opened wide, 
and with a sob of gratitude and delighted surprise, she 
threw herself into her father’s arms. And just as she had 
done so, Selina, with clean bib and tucker and newly 
arranged hair, came into the room to greet (as she im- 
agined) Mr. Bates, and found to her amazement Verena 
clasped in the embrace of a stranger. 

“Verena, my dear ! ” she exclaimed as she stood trans- 
fixed in the doorwa)\ 

“O Lina,” replied Verena, arising her flushed and 
excited face ; “lam so happy ! This is my father, and I 
am going back with him to London.” 


XX. 

Parson Jones received back his friend George Bates, 
with the utmost cordiality, but with the most beautiful un- 
consciousness as to where he had been. He related what he 
had himself done during their temporary separation, and 
what he had left for George to do, and laughed over his own 
fear lest he should have been doomed to preach the two 
sermons on Sunday to an unknown congregation. 

“ Lazy beggar ! ” exclaimed George Bates, in his chaffing 
way. “ You want to get off with as little work as may be. 


PARSON JONES. 


343 


Fve a great mind to go sick on Sunday morning and leave 
you in the lurch. But have you no curiosity to learn what 
I’ve been up to ? You have not even expressed any desire 
to know if the lady accepted, or refused me — if I am to be 
happy or miserable for the remainder of my life. A nice 
friend you are ! One would think you regarded matrimony 
with as much indifference as eating your dinner.” 

“ You know I don’t do that, George ; nor have you been 
away on any such business, or you would be more serious 
about it.” 

“ Well, at any rate, I have seen a young lady during my 
absence who would have the power to make m*e fall in love 
with matrimony, if anyone could.” 

“ Have you ? I should like to see the phenomenon ! 
Who is she, and what is her name ? ” 

“ I expect you have seen her ; indeed, your wife told me 
she is a great pet of your’s. Her name is Verena Shaw, 
and she lives at Llanty-gollen.” 

At those names, all the blood in Parson Jones’ body 
rushed into his cheeks. 

“ Llanty-gollen ! ” he exclaimed eagerly ; “ you have been 
there, George, you have seen her — I mean my wife, and 
my mother and children ? Oh, why did you not tell me 
you intended going! My dear home, my dear bairns. 
What did you think of them all ? ” 

“ I have told you what I think of Miss Shaw ; she is 
simply lovely. Your good wife and mother received me 
with the utmost friendliness and hospitality, and your little 
ones seemed pictures of health and strength to me, espe- 
cially after the sad sights I see daily here.” 

“ But why did you not tell me you were going to see them, 
George ? You make me feel so envious. What would I not 
give for a sight of my dear babes again ? ” 

“ That was just the reason that I said nothing of my in- 


344 


PARSON JONES. 


tention, dear old man. I knew the knowledge would unfit 
you for the work I left behind. We couldn’t both have 
gone, you know. And you may be sure I had a special ob- 
ject in view. I went down to Llanty-gollen, Davy, osten- 
sibly to see how the Reverend Jack was getting on with the 
Taffies, but in reality to try and convert your mother to the 
New Zealand missionary idea, and I am happy to be able 
to report that the dear old lady was rather taken with my 
charms, for I got her to say that my descriptions of the 
country reminded her of heaven, before we parted. I laid 
it on thick, I can tell you.” 

“ How kind of you to take the trouble to travel all that 
distance on my account, George. How can I sufficiently 
thank you ? And they were all well, and looking happy, 
all? ” said Parson Jones, rather hesitatingly. 

“ Yes, all, and I thought remarkably so. Your wife is a 
sweet-looking woman, Davy. So good and sensible. Both 
your mother and her little friend Miss Shaw seemed to de- 
fer to her opinion in everything. And, by the way, some- 
thing happened quite unexpectedly, so they told me, to 
pretty Miss Shaw, this very morning. I called to say good- 
by to them all on my way to the station, and found Mrs. 
Jones, Jr., in a great state of fluster. She told me that her 
young friend’s father (from whom it appears she has been 
separated for some years) arrived at the parsonage directly 
after breakfast and took the girl away to London with him. 
Your wife begged me expressly to give you this bit of news, 
as she thinks you will like to call on Miss Shaw before she 
leaves town again. But she will write to-morrow and send 
you her address.” 

“ Her father is reconciled to her ! ’’exclaimed David Jones, 
in a voice of astonishment and joy. “ He has brought her 
home to London ! Oh, I am thankful. This is indeed an 
answer to my prayers. It is whaL I have been striving for. 


PARSON JONES. 


345 


my dear George : to reconcile this man to his young daugh- 
ter, to whom, on account of his estrangement from her 
mother, now dead, he had conceived a most unnatural 
aversion. But it will be all right now, I am sure. He had 
but to see her to feel toward her as all must do. You 
have seen her, George : you said how she attracted you, 
how lovely she is, poor child, and she has suffered so much. 
But she will get her deserts now. He will make up to her 
for the neglect of the past. Thank God, that he has come 
to his senses at last ! ” 

And Parson Jones sank down into a chair and wiped the 
perspiration off his brow. 

“ You appear to be very much interested in this young 
woman, Davy,” remarked his friend. 

“ I am,” stammered the parson ; “ she was put in my 
charge by her relatives ; and, by degrees, she gave me all 
her confidence. Of course I became interested in her. It 
is hard to see the young suffering, and to be unable to hold 
out any hope of relief to them.” 

George Bates laid his hand on the parson’s and pressed 
it lovingly. 

“ And it is hard to see the middle-aged suffering, dear 
friend, and to be unable to hold out any prospect of relief 
to them. But there are some sorts of suffering that bring 
their cure with them; a cure that is not complete until it 
culminates in the martyr s crown. My dearest David, I 
have guessed your secret, and I could worship you for your 
bravery and courage.” 

“ No, George, don’t say that. You make me feel so 
small,” replied his companion ; “ it is nothing. A folly that 
will soon be over. Only you can understand now, perhaps, 
why I feel that I must leave the country, if possible, and try 
to live the rest of my life for those who have so great a 
claim on me.” 


346 


PARSON JONES. 


“ I do, and you will be very happy so living it, dear old 
chum.” 

“ I know I shall. I mean to be,” replied the parson man- 
fully. “ I should be a fool, indeed, my dear George, when I 
see thousands around me, with just as much right to have 
their hearts’ desire as I have, living and dying without it, to 
imagine that I cannot do of my own free will what they are 
compelled to do through an untoward destiny. Please don’t 
pity me ; for that is the only thing I cannot bear. I am 
passing through the fire, I admit, but it does not burn more 
than I can stand, and it purifies while it burns. The news 
you have just brought me is the best that I could have 
heard. It is what I have aimed at bringing about, since I 
have been in town. I am thankful my efforts have been 
crowned with success. Now she is safe under the protec- 
tion of her father, I can feel easy whatever may betide her.” 

“And you will go to New Zealand with Mr. Solun ?” 

“ If I can persuade my wife and mother to go with 
me.” 

“You will have no difficulty with your wife — you must 
feel that. She just worships you. Anyone could see it 
with half an eye. And neither do I think it will take much 
persuasion to make the old lady see things from your 
own point of view. This little separation has been a most 
favorable accident for you. They all miss you so much 
that they will consent to anything sooner than another 
parting.” 

“I hope it maybe so,” answered Parson Jones, with a 
tender smile at the thought of all the love which awaite-d 
him at home. 

By the next morning’s post he received a letter from Mr. 
Shaw, telling him that, thanks to his interference, his daughter 
was with him ; and, as they were only in London for a few 
days, before starting for Yorkshire, he hoped, and so did 


PARSON JONES. 


347 


Verena, that Mr, Jones would make it convenient to call 
at the Victoria Hotel on the following day. At the first 
blush, Parson Jones decided not to go ; at the second, he 
reproached himself with cowardice for the decision. 
Verena would certainly be disappointed if he failed to wish 
her happiness ; and what had she done that he should let 
her imagine he was indifferent to an event that must make 
such a vast change in her life. Besides, though she had 
gained a father, there was still her recreant lover to be 
accounted for ; and perhaps he might still be of use to her, 
as he had pledged himself to be, in that particular. It was 
with much diffidence that he prepared to accept Mr. Shaw’s 
invitation on the following day ; and he finally set forth, 
more with the feelings of a martyr going to the stake than 
a gentleman about to pay a morning call. As soon as he 
arrived at the hotel, he was shown by the waiter into Mr. 
Shaw’s apartments, where he found himself at once in the 
midst of the family circle, consisting of Mr. Shaw and his 
daughter and a young man whom he had not seen before. 
Verena, looking more beautiful than she had ever done, 
with her features lighted up with love and happiness, left 
her seat with a little cry of pleasure as the parson was an- 
nounced, and almost ran into his arms. 

^‘Dear, dear Mr. Jones,” she exclaimed, as she thrust her 
arm through his, “ I owe everything I have to you. My 
father has told me of your goodness, and the trouble you 
took to find him out, and how you persevered in interesting 
him on my account, and now we are together again and so 
happy. And — oh ! ” she went on with a huge blush that 
turned her face scarlet, and made her eyes doubly bright, 
“do you know, Mr. Jones, that this is Bertie ? And he is 
my father’s adopted son, and that was the reason that he 
left me without any explanation— you remember, I told you 
all about it, but it is all right now — and Bertie, do come 


348 


PARSON JONES. 


and shake hands with Mr. Jones, for he is the best and 
kindest friend that I ever had, and I love him dearly, indeed 
I do ! ” 

The young man advanced as his JiancSe desired him, and 
held out his hand for the acceptance of the stranger. 
Parson Jones took it as he would have done anything, how- 
ever disagreeable, for Verena’s sake ; but his own grasp had 
no cordiality in it. He could not quite forgive this lover 
for having caused Verena so much unhappiness, and left 
her in such suspense, though she apparently had, woman- 
like, forgiven and forgotten it . all. He answered Mr. 
Bryanstone’s words of welcome very gravely. 

“ I congratulate you, sir,” he said, “ on having gained 
such a prize as Miss Shaw’s affection, and I trust you will 
never forget how deeply she suffered on account of your 
silence and lack of explanation.” 

I never shall, Mr. Jones, you may depend upon that,” 
replied Herbert Bryanstone frankly. “ But I assure you it 
was more my misfortune than my fault that I was compelled 
so to leave her.” 

“ Come ! come ! ” interposed Mr. Shaw, “ we have 
arrived at the decision that the sooner the past is buried 
in oblivion the better. Both I and Bertie have been to 
blame — I, far the most. But my girl has forgiven me, so 
we do not mean to spoil the present by alluding to the past. 
But we are all three very sensible, Mr. Jones, that we owe 
our present happiness to your intervention, and we are very 
anxious to mark our appreciation of your goodness by some- 
thing that shall last in your remembrance for a lifetime ; if 
possible in that of your children after you. What shall it 
be ? what is there that I can do for you ? I am a rich man, 
sir, and you need not be afraid of asking too much. Would 
you like to change your cure ? Have you any especial 
views for your sons or daughters ? Shall I invest a little 


PARSON JONES. 


349 


gift to your wife in house property or shares or land ? 
Anything that you decide will give you and your family 
most pleasure or profit, I shall be only too happy to procure 
for you ; only let your choice be a substantial one, or you 
will force us to choose for you.” 

“ Tell father to build^abig house for your very own, dear 
Mr. Jones,” whispered Verena in his ear, “ and to send 
Hugh and Owen to college when the proper time comes.” 

But Parson Jones put her gently away from him. 

“ Mr. Shaw,” he said presently, “ I do not know how to 
thank you for your generosity. You overrate altogether 
the small service I may have been able to do yoijr daughter 
and yourself. Anyone else would have done the same who 
had been privileged to be the recipient of her confidence. 
And — and — I am fond of her, -if I may say so, and felt it 
a duty to try and assist her, as far as I was able. But I 
cannot accept any substantial returri from your hands for 
what I have done. It takes away my claim to have acted 
as her friend. Yet I will ask one reward from you. If — 
if — Verena’s marriage is to take place soon, I should like 
to perform the ceremony.” 

“ Oh, I would not have anyone else, dear Mr. Jones,” 
cried the girl. “ I have told father that already.” 

“ And it is to take place next month,” added Herbert 
Bryanstone proudly, as he slipped his hand in that of 
Verena. 

Parson Jones regarded them with eyes that did not see 
quite clearly. 

“ May God bless you ! ” he said solemnly. “ Then I 
may consider that a promise.” 

“ Certainly,” replied Mr. Shaw, “ for as this puss has told 
you, she had already settled the matter. But Mr. Jones, 
you must reconsider my proposal. You must allow me to 
show my gratitude for what you have done for my daughter 


350 PARSON JONES. 

in some substantial way, if not for your own sake, for that 
of your children.” 

“I thank you, sir, but I have no other answer to give 
you. It is probable that I may not remain in England 
long. I have the prospect of a settlement in New Zealand, 
and should it be carried out, neither I nor my little ones 
will need the help of anyone except themselves.” 

“ Well, sir, our gratitude will accompany you wherever 
you may go, with the remembrance that you have made 
three people very happy.” 

“ I thank God for it,” replied the parson, as he tore him- 
self away from the trying interview. 

He walked back to Whitechapel in a sort of miserable 
dream. He knew it was all right, that it was what he had 
worked for, what he had prayed for, the very best thing that 
could have happened for her and for himself. But he 
could not accept the truth all at once. It was like a bitter 
pill to swallow, and he had to pray and pray again that he 
might have grace given him to drink the cup and thank 
God for it. But the best salve for his wound was close at 
hand. His pain was keen, but it was not suffered to be long. 
As Parson Jones reached the dingy vicarage in White- 
chapel, someone opened the door to him and he entered, 
but could see no one. Where could the portly Mrs. Nelson 
have vanished at so short a notice ? The simple parson 
was turning this question over in his mind when a smoth- 
ered laugh caused him to look behind the door, when lo ! 
and behold ! forth issued merry George Bates, and from 
behind him Ernest Solun. David Jones rushed forward 
and grasped his hand as if he had been his .savior, and 
drawing him after him into the study burst into tears. 

A month afterward there was a grand commotion in 
that vicarage— such a commotion as it had not witnessed 


PARSON JONES. 


351 


since George Bates had taken up his residence there. 
Boxes of all shapes and sizes were piled up in the passage ; 
some of them marked Cabin " and others sewn up in 
canvas as if they were never intended to be undone again. 
There were unusual noises in the household too, worse 
noises than the poor little Whitechapel starvelings ever pre- 
sumed to make — shouts, and laughter, and sounds of pat- 
tering little feet chasing each other up and down the wide 
staircase, and nimble little bodies sliding up and down the 
bannisters, while Mrs. Nelson, strange to say, instead of 
being annoyed, encouraged the merriment and confusion, 
and even joined in it herself. And what it all meant was 
that Parson Jones had actually obtained his heart’s desire 
in persuading his old mother to accompany him to the 
promised land, and the whole family was located at the 
vicarage in preparation for a start that very evening. 

Mary Jones was seated beside Selma in the parlor, both 
women feeling in that unsettled and rather depressed con- 
dition when all the packing and preliminary excitement are 
over, and they have nothing to do but to sit down and wait. 
They were alone, for it was the occasion of another impor- 
tant event — it was Verena Shaw’s wedding day, and the 
parson had gone as promised to tie the knot. Verefia 
would have wished to have her friends Selina and Mrs. 
Jones also by her side on the occasion, but ladies on the 
very eve of undertaking a long sea voyage are not as a 
rule prepared to turn out in festive attire, and so she had 
excused them. It was strange, but it was true, that now 
that Mary Jones had got over the first shock she felt on 
hearing of her son’s decision to give up all his prospects 
and become a missionary, she was not only reconciled to 
the idea, but quite excited at the prospect. “ I do hope 
our dear David will not be persuaded to stay to the 
breakfast, Selina,” she said, “for it might make him late, 


352 


PARSON JONES. 


and I know he has a great many little things still to do be- 
fore he will be ready to start. It would break my heart if 
anything were to delay our journey, now that we are quite 
prepared, Mr. Solun says the Adventurer is one of the 
most comfortable vessels on the line, and then of course 
our passages have been paid for ; and, if we missed going, 
they might not return the money.” 

“ But, grandmamma,” replied Selina, “ I don’t see why 
you should have any such fear. Davy .said expressly that 
he did not intend to remain for the breakfast, but come home 
straight from church. And I don’t suppose there will be 
any inducement for him to stay, either. It is to be a very 
quiet wedding, you know. How could it be otherwise 
under the sad circumstances ? I believe poor Captain 
Jefferson is to be present because Verena begged him so 
hard ; but it will be a very painful ordeal to him, I should 
fhink, remembering his unfortunate wife all the time.” ■ 

“ Selina, my dear ! ” said old Mrs. Jones, with an "air of 
the strictest propriety, “ I must request you will not men- 
tion that person’s name in my presence. It is an insult to 
any virtuous woman to give a thought to her. U?ifortunate 
indeed ! You should say ‘ wicked’; for I can conceive noth- 

more wicked than the deceitful way in which she has 
acted toward her unsuspecting husband. Her name should 
be execrated by everyone.” 

And Colonel Arbuthnott’s also,” said Lina stoutly, “ he 
is quite as bad as she is, if not worse. How true dear 
Davy was in his estimate of their characters. He never 
liked either of them, and saw through their false friendship 
long ago. How wonderfully, too, they fell into their own 
net. I think the idea of Mrs. Jefferson making such an 
intimate friend of Miss Abbott, and telling her her secrets, 
when all the time she was a female detective, is the strangest 
thing of all.” 


PARSON JONES. 35 7 

‘^Yes, Solun,” he answered, “I have found the gift at 
last, and he has been pleased to accept it at my hands/' 

They linked arms and turned as if to seek the cabin, but 
before they did so, David Jones’ eyes sought the receding 
shores of his native land once more. 

“ Take my heart, O God ! ” he whispered, “and keep it 
for henceforward. It is thine alone.” 


THE END. 


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